Cold Hands, Warm Heart
by Imagine-Darksiders
Summary: Sometimes people aren't chosen for a reason. Sometimes, you can't chalk things up to destiny or fate or something else equally exciting. Sometimes, you're just a human who gets swept up in a journey that you were never supposed to be involved in, and all because - for one, tiny glimmer of a moment - you did something brave. This chronicles the journey of the Reader and Death.
1. Revelations

You'd been at work when the first meteor fell, wholly unprepared to survive the end of the world, especially considering your unsuitable choice of footwear.

It was strange though, that you didn't feel afraid. Later, you'd realise that was because the shock had helpfully numbed you to any other sensation you might have felt. Looking back on that terrible day, you'd be hard pressed to recall the exact emotion you had felt when you first saw those strange, unearthly monsters emerge from the steaming meteors and spill out into the street, chasing down any human in sight. But you could say, without a shadow of a doubt, that it was shock that saved your life. For when the rest of your colleagues screamed and hunkered beneath desks or locked themselves in the supply closets, too petrified to move, you somehow found the wit to climb out of a window and shimmy down the fire escape.

And not a moment too soon.

A thunderous BOOM! throws you from the last few rungs of the ladder and onto the hard concrete below.

Coughing and spluttering, you push yourself up onto your elbows and wince at an explosion of pain that blossoms in the back of your head.

"Ah, shit!" You crack your eyes open, blearily squinting up to see your office building engulfed in flames. Every window has been shattered and there's a gaping hole in the wall, beyond which you can hear a blood-curdling roar and then, seconds later, the haunting cacophony of screams and desperate pleas of your coworkers flow out into the alleyway. For a foolhardy moment, you're tempted to go back and try to help, somehow.

With a sickening pang, however, you realise that the meteor has warped the metal fire escape and torn it away from the wall, rendering the damn thing completely unscalable.

Gunfire and frightened wailing reach your ears from the next street over and the hair on the back of your neck raises in response. You grit your teeth, frustration and confusion fighting to be felt under the overwhelming blanket of numb bewilderment.

There's nothing you can do, so you do what you can.

You run.

—-

Again and again, you're subjected to the monotonous warble of your parents' answer phone. You must have rung home a dozen times whilst you fled, ducking behind over-turned cars and dustbins and generally having absolutely no idea where you're going.

As you go, you see….impossible things. Creatures that couldn't…shouldn'texist, crawling out of craters in the ground and scrabbling up from the sewers. Fast, canine beasts with elongated limbs and distorted spines scurry around the streets, easily hunting down your fellow humans and pouncing on them like wolves on frightened lambs. Sprinting down another alley, you catch a glimpse of an enormous, brown thing heaving a bus high above its head before it lets out a deafening roar.

With surprisingly little effort, you wrench your head away from the gruesome sight and just keep running, aimless and defenceless. Originally, you'd intended to run all the way home, distance be damned. But it doesn't take long before you realise that your only chance is to run in the quietest direction, away from the horrified screams. Though it's hard to judge, at times because every corner of the city sings its requiem.

At long last, you stumble, exhausted and gasping, out into an vast, city square. You stand at the edge of the alley, your eyes darting too and fro in search of movement. But the hundreds of fires billowing over the cityscape have begun to choke the air with smoke. When nothing immediately looms out of the murk to attack, you take a few tentative steps out into the open, pause, then dumbly, warily, you venture even further, trying not to cough on the thick, fire-smoke that stings your eyes and clogs your throat.

All of a sudden, about halfway across the square, you stop dead in your tracks, frozen by the sound of a deafening, strident roar. Slowly, painfully slowly, you inch your head towards the noise, eyes wide and stinging, but you're too afraid to blink.

Through the smog, you see it and your blood runs cold, like somebody poured ice water in your veins.

There, to your right, standing over the bodies of an old man and a little, brown and white dog, is a monstrous, humanoid creature. It must easily tower over ten feet tall, skin an ashen grey and eyes of blazing hellfire. Clutched in its meaty claws is a blood-covered battle axe that's almost twice as tall as its wielder. The gruesome thing is staring at you and what you assume is a grin pulls its black lips apart, revealing a jaw filled with yellowing fangs. It roars, vile spittle flying from the back of it's throat and then, it charges.

Like a bullet, the man-creature leaps over abandoned cars, piles of rubble and broken benches in a mad dash straight at you.

Terror, the sheer and unwelcome kind, finally begins to seep through the haze of shock. It seizes your heart and roots your feet to the ground. You stand there like a deer in headlights as the…the whatever the hell that is closes the distance between you.

All at once, a voice behind you cuts through the square and right through your dazzled stupor, snapping you back to reality.

"HERE! OVER HERE! THIS WAY!"

Throwing your head over your shoulder, you squint through the gloom in search of the new voice, aware of the pounding footsteps that only just drown out your hammering heart. Seconds later, you catch sight of a figure, standing out as a grey blur, darker than the smoke in the square. It's waving at you.

In an instant, your legs feel as though they've been released from quicksand and you're off, sprinting like a bat out of Hell towards the stranger. At your back, the beast bellows out it's defiance, though you pay it no mind because at the same moment, there's the sound of a bell tolling. It echoes through the city and sends a flock of birds squawking into the sky over head .

'The church!' you realise, pushing yourself to run ever faster as the overwhelming prospect of safety gives you a renewed sense of hope. Even with your shoes, it quickly becomes apparent that you have speed on your side, although you wouldn't boast to be any more athletic than the next person. The creature is clearly weighed down by heavy metal armour and that colossal axe, so you soon manage to gain some headway.

Wheezing like a demon, you slam full force into the graveyard gate, grabbing the top and heaving yourself over, not bothering to try and undo the latch. You tumble painfully onto the grass, pushing yourself to your feet when something silver glints in the murky light, catching your eye. Your head whips to the side and you see a man, a very dead man with his hand wrapped tightly around the barrel of a handgun, propped up against an old tombstone. In a split second decision, with the hot breath of a literal monster lighting a fire on the back of your neck, you throw yourself on top of the weapon just as it reaches the gate. It takes a hold of the top bar and wrenches it straight off the wall, tossing it to the side as though it were no heavier than a paper aeroplane. Glaring down at your back with that sinister smile, the beast lets out an ugly chortle and tromps forward, raising its axe high into the air.

On the ground, you release the cylinder, sweat pouring down your forehead and seeping out of your palms, making the whole gun slip and slide around in your quivering grasp. There are five rounds left. Your eyes meet the dead stare of the man on the ground and you feel a soft sigh leave your chest. The footsteps behind you stop, your eyes harden and you suddenly feel a glimmer of courage spark up in your chest…..Though it may just be thanks to the gun.

Whatever the beast is, it says something. Nothing you understand, but it's definitely a language of some sort and you're struck, for a moment, that this thing is intelligent. Or at least, intelligent enough to have its own dialect.

But the next thing you know, the words are replaced with a guttural growl. So, you do the only thing you can think of, hardly even daring to think of what'll happen if it doesn't work - if you miss.

Just as the beast's axe reaches its apex, you roll over onto your back and aim the handgun right between it's piggy little eyes. You just have time to see surprise flicker across it's face before you squeeze your index finger down on the trigger and-

BANG!

The monster stops dead, eyes roving up to try and see the new hole it's sporting in the middle its forehead. With a clang, it drops the axe in the dirt behind it and collapses to it's knees, jaw dropped open and tongue lolling out between blackened lips. You merely watch, gasping for breath as it finally slumps forward, falling into a heap right on top of your legs.

Screaming, you scramble and kick at it, desperate to dislodge yourself. Another screech erupts from your mouth when a hand grabs you beneath the armpits and hoists you to your feet. You try to snatch yourself free but stop upon seeing an older man with wild yet kindly eyes, dressed in long, dark brown robes.

"Come, quickly!" he urges, staggering with you towards the heavy wooden doors of his church.

He all but tosses you over the threshold before slamming it shut with a resounding thud then bending to struggle with a thick, plank of wood. Still in a daze and stinking of rancid blood, you fumblingly stuff the pistol into the side of your trousers and stoop down, picking up one end of the plank. The robed man nods his thanks as you both lift it onto a pair of hooks that keep it secured to the church doors, serving as a crude but necessary barricade. You highly doubt that it'll stop any of those monsters outside, but as of now, it's a damn sight better than nothing.

Panting, you rest your forehead on the door and try not to think about how close that had been.

"Are you alright, my child?"

The sound of a friendly voice is a blessed relief. Nodding shakily, you push yourself off the door and throw the man a grateful smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks, father." Feeling the cold metal against your hip, you grimace and gesture to the gun tucked into your trousers. "Ah, sorry about the pistol, by the way."

The man - a priest - waves his hand dismissively and places it on your shoulder, returning your grim smile. "I should think, given the circumstances, that our Heavenly father will understand."

With a detached chuckle, you brush the sweat off your forehead and turn fully to face the church.

There are at least another dozen people in there with you. Men, women and children, all tired, frightened and some covered in blood, from head to toe. Their eyes move to watch you but they seem unfocused, as if they're looking through you, not at you. You know exactly how they feel.

"Father-" Out of the corner of your eye, you spot a woman clutching two young boys close to her chest, head bowed and humming a soft but trembling tune. Clearing your throat and lowering your voice to address the priest, you urgently whisper, "Pardon my french, but what the Hell is going on?"

He stares at you for a while, unblinking. Then all at once, he laughs bitterly, entirely without humour and spreads his arms wide as he backs up the aisle towards the pulpit. All eyes are trained on him, some hopeful, as though a man of God would be enough to stop the beasts outside. But most, yourself included, are wary, afraid that he knows something that you don't. Something that you've considered, but daren't voice aloud, lest it be true and that truth drive you all mad with fear.

There's a defeated dullness in his eyes when he looks out over the people and shakes his head, picking up the black, leather bound bible and flipping through the pages, searching. "What on earth do you think is happening?" The question, though rhetorical, pries several hopeless sobs from the congregation, whilst your breath catches in your throat and you share a look with a sharply-dressed businessman who's clasping his briefcase like it's his lifeline.

"Let us reflect," the priest calls out abruptly, disturbing the horrified murmuring, "upon Revelations, six. Verse seven."

One of the men throws himself forwards and heaves onto the stone whereas a woman, his wife, you think, leaps from the pew and screeches at the priest, "You can't be serious!? We need to call the fucking police, not sit here, reading bible verses and waiting to die!"

Despite her hysteria, you hasten to agree. "She's right!" you speak up from the door, flinching when every head swivels in your direction. "We…we have to…I don't know! Barricade the windows! Find weapons and defend ourselves!"

To your dismay, the priest simply peers down at you warmly but he doesn't offer a response.

Slumping against the door, you put your hand to your head, shaking it in disbelief and muttering aloud, "I have to find mum, I have to find my mum," simply because you can't seem to think of anything else to say. The situation is like something out of a nightmare and in fact, you're hoping that at any minute, you'll wake up in bed.

As he studies your face, his brow furrows sadly and he clenches the holy book in his shaking hands, pressing it into his chest almost reverently. Inhaling softly, he holds your gaze and begins, "Before the eyes of God…..we have been judged… And we have been found guilty…"

Something in his eyes keeps your focus and you find yourself unable to look away.

"Death awaits us all," he continues, opening the book and tilting it towards the congregation, "just as Revelations claimed it would."

At that moment, another meteor screams overhead and lands nearby, shaking the church's foundations and causing decades of dust to cascade down on your heads. All of the children and a painfully young baby start to cry in earnest now and everyone screams when several loud roars bray in the distance like hunting hounds, followed by the banshee screech of a creature flying past the stain-glass window.

"And I heard the word - in a voice like thunder - say; "Come and see," and I saw, and behold a pale horse. And his name that sat on him, was Death!"

The priest looks up from the pages and his eyes light on the wooden door, just above your head. "…and Hell followed with him…."

More crashes and booms rock the church before it all falls silent again, save for the distant rattling of chains and the steady approach of several hundred footsteps.

"Oh christ!" the businessman shrieks, leaping to his feet, "They're coming! We're all gonna die in here!"

The boys clinging to their mother scream and bury their heads in her coat.

Since you're leant up against the door, you can hear them most clearly. The same grunting, snorting beasts as the one that attacked you. There's no denying the pitch of those growls, a sound you'd take to your - apparently very early - grave. To your utmost horror, it sounds as though there are a hundred of the things.

"Nobody i-is going to die!" you stammer, cringing at how unsure you sound, but you just can't bear to hear the panicked cries of the kids. Clumsily, you pull out the pistol and show it to the others. "They…they can be killed! I killed one! We still have a chance!"

For a moment, it would seem that your words meant to inspire hope would serve that effect because there are several murmurs and nods of agreement. Until the same man as before suddenly shoots to his feet, fingers clasped into his hair and the briefcase is discarded, scattering papers to and fro. "You have ONE gun!" he shrieks, prompting an older woman to grab his sleeve and try to shush him. He simply yanks his arm free, breathing hard. "They're all over the city! We can't - They're gonna….Oh God."

As if in direct defiance of his final exclamation, a low, rumbling growl creeps beneath the doors and reaches your ears. Stuffing a hand over your mouth, you scrabble to your feet and whip around to face the entrance.

The whole church freezes, not a soul dare move for fear of being heard, so they hold their breath. Everyone but the priest, who glares ferociously at the door.

You spare a glance at the others before swallowing thickly and staring back at the door. If you strain your ears, you can just make out a quiet snuffling sound, as of something big sniffing at the air.

Cold sweat trickles down the back of your neck and your lungs burn with the desperate need for oxygen but you're too afraid to inhale.

For what honestly feels like an eternity, nothing else happens.

But then, like a death knell chiming to mark your doom, the baby in its mother's arms whimpers softly, almost imperceptibly, but it may as well have screamed.

Without a second of warning the creature on the other side of the door lets out a victorious, bellowing battle cry and beyond it, you hear an answering cacophony of roars, howls and guttural barks.

"And lo!" the priest cries in kind, having somehow found the courage to continue his sermon despite the horrendous noise from outside, "there was a great earthquake! And the sun became black!"

The door abruptly bows inwards when something heavy crashes into it, forcing you a few steps backwards on wobbly legs, stumbling on a loose slab and tripping over onto your backside. Behind you, the people scream and sob and pray, but the priest's voice cuts above them all, strong resolute and defiant.

"And the great day of his wrath has come!"

You heart has never beat so hard, as though it wants to break out of your ribcage and make a desperate flee for safety and leave your body behind. "This isn't happening," you try to convince yourself, regardless of the wood splintering into your face with each thunderous pummel of the door, "this is not happening!" The hinges begin to come loose from the stone and you see beyond the gap in the doors, a hideous, snarling face, dripping wet with saliva and blood.

And in spite of your fear, in spite of every modicum of logic screaming that there's not a thing you can do, that you should just give up and roll over, in spite of this, you place your hands on the ground and with a grunt, push yourself up onto your feet again. Because you hate the idea of dying, but you hate the idea of dying on your belly even more.

At your back, the priest raises his voice to the heavens, issuing his last verse at the same time as you choke on a hopeless wail.

"AND WHO SHALL BE ABLE TO STAND!?"

"STOOOOP!" you scream with all your might, taking a brave step towards the door and holding out a hand, fingers splayed wide as though that might protect the people in the church.

And to your utter incredulity, the banging does stop.

Silence settles over the church for all of three seconds before another growl emanates from behind the door, only this one carries the distinct tone of someone who's more confused than bloodthirsty. You glance back at the priest and the other people, each looking just as befuddled as the beast outside sounded.

Suddenly, there's a different noise, one that draws your attention back to the door. It sounds like metal scraping against metal, like a sword being drawn or a knife being sharpened. Cautiously, you peer at the door, leaping back seconds later as if you'd been stung when a sharp, blood-dripping blade slices clean through the thick wood, accompanied by a grating howl of pain. The blade pulls free seconds later and leaves a rectangular break in the door, large enough to see through. Something big thumps against the door and emits a watery gurgle before it falls silent.

Petrified as you are, you can only stand there, staring, mouth agape at the place where the blade had pierced, wind whistling eerily through the gap and echoing down the church aisle. It isn't until you feel someone brush past you that you blink and snap your mouth shut, watching the priest approach the door with his bible still in hand. Without word or ceremony, he spares you a faltering glance, then he bends to put his face up to the hole and peers out.

Only the baby kicking up a fuss utters any noise while the priest continues to stare outside. In an instant, he lets out a strangled gasp and pulls away, backing up further into the church.

"What?" you hiss, snapping your gaze between him and the door, "What?!"

Dark eyes meet yours, dread evident in the way they begin to droop. Taking a quiet breath, the priest places his hands on the bible and hugs it to himself, bowing his head and murmuring softly, "May God have mercy on our souls."

The not-knowing is killing you. You have the untamable urge to see what he'd seen, so you fling yourself in front of the hole in the hopes that maybe you'll see something that provides you with an answer as to why this is happening. What you see instead, surprises you.

It's difficult to make out through the fog, but you clearly see the shape of a man. A very tall man, standing with his back to you in front of a veritable swarm of those hideous brutes. As you watch, he turns to look over his shoulder, ebony hair swaying gently in the hot breeze and you gasp aloud when your eyes meet two pinpricks of blazing orange, although you chalk it up to his eyes simply catching the reflection of a nearby car that's on fire. He - whoever he is - holds your gaze for a few seconds and then turns back to the army of chomping, snarling monsters. You squint in an attempt to make out what he's holding in each hand but another blanket of smog rolls across the square and he becomes even more obscured.

"There's someone out there," you croak.

"What?" a man asks from the back, "What's going on!?"

You aren't quite sure why you did what you did next. "There! There's someone - HEY! HEEEY!" you suddenly shout, smacking your hand on the door urgently. "Hey! OVER HERE, HURRY! Get inside!"

"The hell are you doing!?"

"Get away from that door!"

A pair of gentle but firm hands grip your shoulders and pulls you backwards. Teary eyed, you stare imploringly up at the priest. "There's a guy out there," you explain, glancing at the people cowering in the pews, "We can't just leave him! He'll die!"

The mother with the boys snaps her head up to glare at you. "If you open those doors, we all die."

Biting your lip, you finger the gun in your waistband, pinching your brow and giving the priest a determined, if not unsteady frown. "Father…I have a gun. There's a lot of them, yes. But maybe I can…I can hold them off while he gets over here-"

"That is not a person, my dear," he murmurs, squeezing your shoulders.

"What?" You quirk an eyebrow at him, confused. "What are you talking about? He just killed one of them! That must mean he's human! They wouldn't kill one of their own!"

"How would you know!?" the businessman accuses from his hiding spot behind the furthest pew.

You try to retort, but your tongue feels dry and heavy, weighed down by the bitter taste of uncertainty and fear. Sensing your indecision, the priest lets go of your shoulders and fixes you with a stern expression. "I am a man of God," he states resolutely, "and I cannot allow the evil out there to taint the inside of these walls." Then, he softly adds to you, in a whisper, "Listen, I'm just as astounded as you, believe me. However, now is not the time to stop thinking rationally." He places his hand on your shoulder again, tilting his head to keep your focus locked on him when your eyes start to wander back to the entrance. "The only thing that awaits you out there, is death."

"Look at the door, father," you whisper, "death's probably waiting for us in here too."

A river of tears streams down your face, cutting through the dirt and sweat whilst you put your hand over his and entwine your fingers with his. "I…I don't want to die trapped," you breathe, "Let me out. Shut the door behind me. Bar it - I don't care - just…" Stopping to catch your breath, you step away from the priest. "Just don't make me die in here. I have to help, I have to - to do…something! Maybe I can lead them away from here."

Your outcry bounces around in the church as people stare. The priest studies your face carefully, searching you for - what?

Courage?

God's favour?

Luck?

He'd find you tragically devoid of all those things.

Though whatever he does find seems to sway his decision. Lips pulling into a tight grimace, he lets his eyes slip shut. When they open again, he looks about twenty years older than before. "Once you leave, the door will not open again." Even he doesn't look sure of his own conviction.

"I-" you pause, thinking hard. Eventually, you take a deep breath and squeeze your eyes shut before exhaling forcefully. "I know."

Two of the men in the church grab the plank of wood and lift it from the hooks, then they each grab one of the round, metal handles on the door, bracing themselves to pull it open. You allowed the priest - Father Michael, he told you - to bless you before you left. He finishes uttering a quick prayer and steps back, away from you and the door.

"Fly fast," he tells you.

With a last look back at the faces of the strangers in the church, you pull the pistol from your trouser waistband, check the chambers and nod to the priest, mouthing 'thank you,' as the doors swing open with a loud creak.

Immediately, you're hit with the coppery stench of blood and painful sting of smoke in your eyes and throat. Blinking back tears, you venture out into the graveyard, screaming a little when the doors slam shut abruptly behind you.

Outside is chaos.

You've never seen a war zone before - at least, not outside of a cinema - but you imagine this must be what they looked like.

On the horizon, you gape as a skyscraper comes crashing down to the ground, more and more meteors fall from the sky and set ablaze everything in their wake. You make a mad dash for the low wall that surrounds the graveyard and dive behind it before you're spotted. Poking your head over the wall, you rove your eyes over the ruined square and your heart plummets into your stomach.

There are gigantic, bat-like creatures zooming through the sky on inverted wings, monumentally tall, shadowy things that tower over the distant buildings, their heads disappearing into the smoke up above but their long, spindly bodies moving slowly like great whales through the murky darkness. Your gaze drops to the battlefield again, searching, either for an gap in the fighting, through which you can make a quick getaway, or for the black-haired stranger. Although judging by the sheer volume of monsters out there, something tells you that he's as good as dead. "Come on," you whine, "where are you?"

A pack of those dog-like creatures hurtle past your hiding your spot, forcing you to duck and flatten yourself against the wall again, though not before you glimpse someone tall throwing himself at a concentrated group of the pale blue humanoids. 'There!' you think triumphantly, feeling like you'd accomplished step one in escaping this mess.

That satisfaction is short-lived, however, thanks to the crushing realisation that you'll actually need to go out there if you want to help the poor idiot. With a groan, you place your trembling hands on top of the wall and hesitantly pull yourself up, once again.

The stranger is still there and really giving it his all! You have to resist the urge to cheer for him. He's a whirlwind of movement. Leaping, twisting and ducking out of the way of blades and claws with perfect ease and timing. At this distance, you can only make out his silhouette, what with being obscured by smoke and the occasional spray of blood. Though from what you can see, the guy is built like a tank. 'Must be special forces,' you muse.

Great swathes of the assailants fall dead at his feet, cut down by twirling, shining…blades?

'Melee, huh?' you purse your lips and throw your pistol a dirty look. 'Unconventional, but at least he doesn't have to reload.'

As you observe him, a tiny ember of hope flickers to life in your gut, reminding you that hope is still possible despite the bleakest of situations. Although numerous, the monsters don't seem to be as sturdy as you'd once thought. You'd killed one of them with a single shot to the head and this guy seems to be having very little trouble putting them down. 'Maybe this won't be such a massacre after all,' you dare to imagine, 'if he can kill these things, why can't anyone else? Maybe he can help me get home! We can find my mum! And then-…."

And then… what?

Honestly, you haven't planned that far ahead. Snapping yourself out of your thoughts, you concentrate on how on Earth you're going to get the stranger's attention. After a second, from the corner of your eye, you notice something, only because it's armour is a stark contrast to the sea of pale blue. It's another monster, a variant of the others, standing at least a whole head and shoulders taller than the rest and garbed in a full suit of leather, burgundy armour. It's horns are curved in a spiral and behind it drags a a phenomenally big war hammer, rather than use an axe, like its brethren.

The behemoth stalks through the slain bodies purposeful and it doesn't take a genius to figure out that it means to get the drop on your mystery man, who's currently preoccupied with dodging attacks from about ten other monsters, all at the same time. The huge creature breaks into a slow jog, heaving its hammer into both hands, recognising that its prey's lapse in concentration will not last forever. Lowering its great, helmeted head, it picks up speed and charges towards him whilst the other simply leap out of its way. Those who don't, are simply mowed down.

'He's never gonna see that thing in time!' you realise, bile rising in your throat.

Taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, you ignore the fact that it did absolutely nothing to help and vault over the low wall, barrelling towards your inevitable death, screaming the entire way.

The big beast is nearly on top of the man, sending a spike of panic to rocket up your spine. You open your mouth, raise the pistol and holler, "LOOK OUT, MISTER!" Even though your voice squeaks horribly, you don't have the forethought to be mortified.

Everything on the square appears to slow down as dozens of heads twist to regard the newcomer and every single pair of eyes widen upon seeing a solitary human lurching towards them, screeching out a broken battle cry that's far more amusing than intimidating. In fact, several of the monsters take a few, fatal seconds to laugh brazenly. Taking advantage of this, the man cuts them down but you're too focused on your own target to pay attention to what he's doing. The behemoth slowed a fraction to glance at you, a move that proved to be its downfall.

Upon looking to you, it inadvertently exposes the front of its face, the helm no longer proving an obstacle and although you've never, ever boasted to be a good shot, apparently, whatever that priest blessed you with worked because when the bullet explodes from your gun, it hits the monster dead centre, right between the yellow eyes and shatters its skull with a sickening crack.

The stranger had raised his head at the sound of your voice and followed your weapon's aim to the charging beast when the shot rang out, stealing his chance to satiate his own bloodlust. There's a grunt of surprise. Then, it pitches forward, drops its hammer and crumples to the hard ground, lifeless.

The other monsters all stare down at their fallen leader, you can even sense the eyes of the man boring into the side of your head, although you haven't actually looked at him yet. There's another beat before every creature raises its head to look at you.

Quivering, you see the closest of them have their lips pulled back over gnashing fangs and they're snarling at you so raggedly, you almost drop the pistol, again.

"Crap."

In a flurry of motion, the creatures all burst back to life and hurl themselves at the insolent human who killed their leader. Yelping, you start to backpedal, not that you expect it to do much good. You're far too close. There's no escaping it this time.

In a bid to spare yourself from having to see them chew your body to pieces, you squeeze your eyes shut, pushing the last tears you'll ever cry down your face. Hiccoughing softly, you exhale -

\- and squawk when a thick arm snakes around your waist all of a sudden, lifting you off your feet. Your eyes fly open with a gasp and you find yourself draped over a broad, sinewy shoulder. From this new position, you have a lovely view of the monstrous horde, each clawing after you, spittle flying from their maws onto your face. They're so hot on your heels, you can even smell their rancid breath.

The man - you assume its the man - tightens his arm around the back of your legs as he darts between cars and across the square in an attempt to shake his pursuers. A shadow falls over you and you glance up, bobbing up and down whilst he runs, to see one of the flying creatures swooping down at you from high above. "Woah!" you exclaim and slap a hand on the man's solid shoulder blade, "F-Faster! Go! Go! Run!" You're so concerned about getting away that you don't even register that his skin is ice-cold, not unlike that of a corpse.

"Would you rather I drop you? So that you can run at your preferred pace?" the stranger snaps abruptly.

He may have meant it abrasively, but you could weep with relief.

Plain english. He'd spoken a human language. Father Michael was wrong. This man may be a little gruff and his voice is bursting with badly-disguised aggression…But he's definitely human.

"Nah! I'm good!" you shout, flicking your wobbly gaze above the heads of the pursuing creatures. On the horizon, you can see the old church and when you squint, you notice that there's something huge landing on the roof. Something with enormous, leathery wings and a long, barbed tail. It's screech is so loud, you can hear it over the rest of the din. The huge thing begins to bash at the church roof and you watch helplessly as the bell tower falls sideways, crashing through to the floor below. Uttering a triumphant howl, the giant pushes its way through the hole in the roof, following after the toppled bell.

"He-hey! Wait, wait!" you cry, thumping the man's back again with your fists, "Go back! The church - we have to go back! We can't leave them to that - that-" You know, even before he says anything, that it's much too late.

"Are you mad, human?"

'Human?'

"Your church is lost! Earth is lost!"

He ducks into an alley and skids to a halt.

Your face screws up defiantly. "YOU DON'T KNOW THAT!…." Several of the creatures that had managed to keep track of you slide around the corner, their eyes zeroing in on you. Realising that he isn't moving, you start to breathe heavily, wriggling about in his grip. "Why've we stopped?"

No response.

The monsters slowly stalk up the dark alley towards you, brandishing their axes and licking their chops.

"H-hey!?" you call again and twist yourself around painfully to try and see what's going on. In an attempt to keep yourself elevated, your fingers find purchase on something hard, protruding from the man's back. You gasp at the strange object and your eyes fly down to see what you'd touched, bulging out of their sockets when you realise that it's his spine you've grabbed….It's sticking out of him unnaturally and….how've you not noticed the paleness of his skin until now? Nor how eerily cold his skin feels beneath your touch.

Dimly, your ears pick up the sound of gentle but cryptic murmuring and there's a rumbling hum under your body, emanating from his chest and rolling up into his shoulders, where you lay.

The creatures are barely ten feet away from you now, leering. They know they've caught you.

Licking your lips, you inhale a shuddering breath and ask, "Why um..Why did you call me 'human' before?"

A quiet 'shing' draws your attention down to the side, where you notice his free hand - too big to be human - has long, spindly fingers, wrapped up in tight, bloodstained bandages and it's clasped tight around the hilt of a formidable scythe.

"…What the fuck are you?"

Without warning, two of the three beasts roar and surge forwards with raised axes, ready to bring them down on your head. You scream and throw your head down, burying your face in cold skin.

At the very last moment, the man clamps his hand down hard on your legs and then whirls about. With an almighty heave, he launches his scythe through the air, sending it hurtling down the narrow alley which plays to his advantage because it leaves your attackers with no room to strafe. His aim is impossibly true, taking the heads clean off the two closest before it lodges itself in the shoulder of the third.

You cover your ears when the wounded beast howls in pain and your eyes burst open wide at the sight before you. Now that you're facing the wall at the back of the alley, you can see what had him so distracted. A pulsing, swirling portal of poison-green stretches across the surface of brick, high and wide enough to fit a person or two. Disturbingly, you find you can't tear your gaze from the ominous doorway. You say 'doorway', because what else could it possibly be?

Even with your hands over them, you can't stop your ears from hearing the ugly gurgling of a sliced throat, mere seconds later, nor the telltale slump of a trio of bodies hitting the ground.

Your trembling is out of control now. It's so violent, you're afraid your head will fall off. The 'man' beneath you hums, clearly irritated as his shoulders heave up and down with his deep intakes of breath.

Reluctantly, you open your mouth to speak, but nothing more than a tiny croak comes out and he stills, tilting his head to the side as if he's listening to you. Again, you swallow drily and squeeze your hands into fists. "Please," you utter breathlessly, "please, put me down. I..I need to find my mum…" Your bottom lip trembles and you choke on a sob whilst he mulls your words over.

The sob escapes you loudly when he slowly shakes his head, hair brushing against the exposed skin on your back. "You won't find your mother," he grunts matter of factly, "I told you. Earth is lost."

Slapping a hand over your mouth, you cringe at the feeling of his sharp, alien fingers twitching against your thighs. "Just let me go…."

"Do you want to die?" he snaps, sighing when it pulls a hiccough from your throat.

You shake your head frantically and weakly reach back to push at the arm holding you down. Delirious with fright and insecurity, you babble several incoherent words before you finally manage to nail down a proper sentence. "Fuuu- I don't like this!"

With that, the man turns back to the alley wall which prompts you to begin struggling in earnest, though it does nothing to loosen his omnipotent hold.

"Oh?" he hums, tone laced with morbid amusement, "Well then. You're really not going to like what happens next."

And without ceremony, without even allowing you the chance to offer up some words of farewell to your home, the 'man' takes a few, confident steps and disappears into the green vortex, with you still dangling from one of his strong, bloodless shoulders.


	2. Shock

There's something about ripping apart the fabric of reality and stepping from one world straight into another that the human body doesn't especially agree with. Drastic drop in temperature notwithstanding.

Your brain, organs, even your blood cells know that they aren't supposed to be squeezed through what's essentially a miniature black hole and spat out on top of a mountain, so they protest, as is their right.

Your head spins violently as the man carrying you walks out of a dark, grey cliff-face and lands with a dull crunch onto glistening snow. The lurching of your stomach encourages you to still your frantic thrashing for a moment whilst you wait for your body to settle down and stop trying to turn itself inside out.

"Guh!" you groan miserably, laying pathetically limp over a shoulder that's almost as thick as you are. There's a low, warbling rumble emanating from somewhere far, far away, as though you're submerged in deep water, listening to a train pass overhead on nearby tracks.

With another moan, you blink open your eyes only to immediately slam them shut again at the sudden intrusion of blinding light as the ringing in your ears gradually builds to a painful crescendo. It takes a few moments of laying perfectly still before the screeching tone begins to blessedly peter out, allowing other sounds to permeate your eardrums and register in your brain.

The first thing you notice is the howling of wind. It wails like a ghost and whips your hair about sporadically. Gradually, over the din, you become aware of someone speaking, a deep, monstrous growl that punches you in the chest when you recognise it, and suddenly, the events of the last several hours come rushing back, bringing with them the ability to move and speak.

The man holding you has been talking to you, trying to ask if you're still alive and grumbling to himself at your lack of response when, all of a sudden, you flail into action, screaming incoherently and kicking out with your legs.

"Ah, good. You didn't die of fright," he chuckles, then winces as you yelp shrilly right next to his ear. "…Well….Not yet, at least."

Still putting up a fight, panic pushing bile up your throat, you bend your arm back and push frantically against his head, fingers twisting into thick, greasy hair. "LET. ME. GO!" you try to bellow fiercely. The fact that your voice comes out as more of a squeak shatters the pitiful illusion you're trying to create, of being far braver than you actually are.

Grunting when you tug sharply on his locks, the man warns, "If you don't stop squirming, I'm going to drop you."

But your heart is too busy hammering its way out of your chest for you to pay attention, so you continue to thrash around in his unshakable grip, the only direction springing to mind being, 'get away,' as though you're sensing, deep in your soul, that this impregnable man is….wrong. On a natural and metaphysical level.

Heaving a long-suffering sigh, he rolls his eyes up to the clear sky. "Suit yourself." And with that, he releases your thighs and drops his shoulder, sending you toppling several feet into a pile of powdery snow.

"Oof!"

"I did warn you."

Quick as a flash, you flip yourself onto your back and kick out frantically, scrabbling away from him in a mad dash. Your eyes are still squinted painfully against the sudden intrusion of light, but the fear of not being able to see the stranger has you fighting to open them. One of your hands flies up to shield you from the brightness and its under that small blip of shadow that you blink rapidly, trying to focus on the blurry shape in front of you. Slowly, the visage of the large man becomes clearer, and when it does, you don't scream, you don't even utter a peep. You can't. Terror has coated your tongue with lead.

The stranger is looming over you, his eyes of smouldering embers staring down, half bored, half amused. He's like nothing you've ever seen. In the dark alley, his skin had looked pale but out here….

You'd seen a corpse, once. A young man you worked with, who had no immediate family, so the police called you in to identify the body. They hadn't even put him on ice yet, but he was disturbingly cold to the touch, regardless. His skin, a waxy grey with just the barest tint of purple, was stretched taut over his bones and clung in an ugly manner to every muscle and joint.

You're reminded instantly of that man when you look at the one standing over you. His own skin is that same, pale grey – a stark contrast to his eyes which burn so brightly, they could even be made of fire - and you can see every single bulging muscle, every bone and tendon and every sinew as it hugs the broad expanse of his exposed chest and arms. On his face, he wears a white, mouthless death-mask which, in spite of his intimidating height, is really his most menacing feature.

When he speaks, his voice rolls over you like brontide, different from when he spoke in the alley. Back then, it was sharp and strained because he had to raise it to be heard above a dying city. Now though…

"It's alri-"

He only manages to get out half a sentence as he approaches before you release a terror-stricken scream and hurl a fistful of snow at him. It thwacks against his chest with a wet squelch and then slides down to his belly, dripping into the lining of the thick, leather belt that hangs around his scrawny waist.

Your eyes follow the trail, teeth chattering violently despite how hard you've clenched your jaw shut.

"…Charming," he grumbles, though he doesn't take another step towards you.

In a snap, your tongue comes unglued to the roof of your mouth and you splutter, "Wha! Where- What is this!? Where am I? Who…who are you? Let me go, I-I won't tell anyone!" Too many thoughts run through your head and tumble out of your mouth in a desperate rush.

You barely even know what you've asked until he blinks slowly at you and replies, "This is the Crowfather's realm and that should also answer your second question. Now, as for who I am…" He pauses to extend a hand, meaning for you to grab it so he can pull you up, but instead, you jolt and flail about in the snow for a moment, hurriedly pushing yourself back a few more feet.

Huffing, the man curls his fingers into a fist and it drops to his side again. With a roll of his eyes, he clears his throat and says, as casually as though he's remarking on the weather, "I am Death."

You blink at him for several, long, cold moments before raising your shivering fingers to your head and taking fistfuls of your hair between them. "No, no, no, no- haha!- No that's not - Maybe I'm…Am I?"

Death quirks his head, narrows an eye and regards you curiously, It becomes relatively clear that you've lapsed into shock. Now you're talking to yourself. Wonderful.

Suddenly, you exclaim sharply and snap your head up, the faintest glimmer of hope igniting in your chest and warming you in the frigid cold of the mountain snow. "Wait!" you laugh breathlessly, "Wait I know what this is! Oh my God. Oooh! Oh thank god!" Elated, you flop back into the snow and place a hand on your chest which heaves up and down, relieved.

"What's wrong with you?" Death asks warily.

In response, you throw him a weak smile and gasp, "It's just a dream!"

His expression immediately falls flat.

With a deep sigh, Death pinches his nose-ridge and shakes his head disdainfully when he's abruptly interrupted by something large and feathery landing on his shoulder and digging it's talons into his pale flesh for balance. "And where've you been?" he asks the crow, throwing the enormous, black bird a disapproving look. By way of a reply, 'Dust' simply caws evasively and tilts his head, staring down at you with a dark, beady eye.

Paying no attention to the newcomer nor the man, you sit up quickly and rub at your eyes, still shivering fit to burst. "Alright, I'm dreaming," you clarify, raising your hand and holding it parallel to your face, "None of this can be real. So, I just need to wake myself up. No big deal!"

Unsure exactly of what's happening, Death glances at the crow and then at you before he amble towards you hesitantly.

He jerks back not a moment later because there's a sudden, resounding smackthat makes even the reaper wince. With your eyes closed tight and brimming with fresh tears, you give yourself one more, hard slap for good measure and look up. Immediately, your face falls from hopeful anticipation to confused apprehension upon seeing him instead of the walls of your bedroom, as you'd expected.

"Wha-?" You pause, eyes flicking over his mask before you scrunch your face up and squeeze your eyes shut again. "Come on!" you plead shakily, "Wake. UP!" Repeating yourself over and over, you punctuate each word with a fresh smack.

Death and Dust exchange another look, the former apparently reading something in the crow's expression because he says, "I don't know. This is the strangest thing… Yes, humans have been known to faint when they see me." Here, they both peer down at you again, Death crouching to study you closer. "But I've never seen one try to make themselves pass out."

Rumpling his feathers, Dust squawks and flits from his master's shoulder onto the snowy ground. He hops over to you until he's right beside your left knee and chatters to get your attention.

"Huh?" you gasp, pulling your hand away from your reddening face and blinking down into the jet black eyes of the biggest crow you've ever seen. "W-woah…Is that a crow? I heard, dreaming about crows is a - OW!" You snatch away the hand that had just been resting innocently in the snow and clutch it to your chest protectively. "Hey!"

Dust, having decided to take the initiative, had seen fit to turn his sharp beak towards your forefinger and - completely unprovoked - given your soft flesh a razor-sharp peck.

Stunned, you give the crow a dirty look, crying out indignantly, "That really-" You hesitate, glancing down at your wounded finger. Hot, red blood oozes steadily down the length of it and drips into the snow at your feet.

"-really…hurt?" Even though the temperature has to be well below zero, you can still feel the chill that dances up your spine. A heavy weight drops into your chest and all the sound from the outside seems so quiet next to the blood rushing in your ears. Falteringly, you drag your head up to fix a pair of petrified eyes upon the man crouched in front of you.

He seems to be preoccupied with scowling at the crow. "Haven't you even the common courtesy of waiting until its dead before you start eating something?" Dust merely resumes pecking at the fresh spots of blood that stain the snow.

"No…" you breathe, drawing the attention of the pale, masked man again. His glare, though steady, carries the promise of a snapped temper that lays just a hairsbreadth under the surface. "No. Why didn't that wake me up? You - you can't be real! You are not real!"

Sneering beneath the mask, Death braces his hands against his knees and pushes himself to stand, all the while keeping your wild eyes locked with his. "You'd best hope," he rumbles, "that I am real. Because as of now, I am the only thing standing between you and certain-…. Where do you think you're going?"

Incredulous, Death's jaw drops and he stares after you as you get to your feet, whirl around and begin to meander away from him on wobbly legs. "No! No, no, no. This is too much, this is too. Much!" The cold is finally starting to get to you, slowing your movements and tiring you out faster than normal. Snow, ankle deep, impedes your progress but still you march numbly away from the man calling himself 'Death.' There isn't a bone in your body that is ready to accept that what's happening to you is real.

Watching you stumble and trip your way down the mountain, Death's mouth remains agape, at least until his brows snap together and he hardens his expression into something suitably steely. "Fine," he shrugs, nonchalant, "I tried. If she dies, that's her fault." And with that, he turns on his heel, fully intending to pursue the actual reason he came to this realm; To find the Crowfather.

He makes it all of a few strides before Dust, who has since reclaimed the perch on Death's pale shoulder, hisses at him vehemently. To his credit, Death ignores the crow for another several seconds. Then, his footsteps drag to a reluctant halt. "Don't look back," he murmurs, voice commanding. Though it's unclear whether he's talking to himself or the bird.

A few more strides forwards, and then..

"Damnit."

—

You've made embarrassingly little progress down the snow covered mountain. Cold, lost and still half-convinced that this is all a mere figment of your imagination, you don't even notice that you've stopped.

Your mind is blank, a desolate wasteland, void of intelligible thought. You feel like you're caught fluctuating between shock and denial, which hardly seems fair. You're supposed to be able to move past the shock, after which comes the denial. Not one, then the other and then back again. The pamphlets made it sound so clear-cut.

The icy wind slices painfully at your skin and whips strands of hair into your face, it's biting presence sad proof that everything happening to you is happen for real. In an uncomfortable sense, the freshness of it on your skin helps you come around and think clearly again. "I've got to get out of here…" you whisper, watching your breath come out in a puff of white fog.

At that moment, something grabs a hold of your jumper's thick scruff and lifts you clear off your feet. "Gack!" you exclaim, choking as you're spun about in an iron grip to face the thing that has a hold on you.

For a second, you're convinced that Death has caught up to you and is staring furiously into your eyes, looking for all the world like he wants nothing more than to swallow you whole. But through the panic, you manage to discern that the narrowed eyes looming just inches from your face do not, in fact, look familiar. These ones are a frosty blue and they burn with considerably less intensity. And this bleached-white skull actually has a mouth. A mouth that stretches open wide in a hideous, guttural roar, flecks of saliva spraying over your exposed face and drenching you in the stinking liquid.

Suddenly, it all begins to feel a tad too real.

Reverting to the natural reaction one has when finding oneself in immediate danger, you open your own mouth and shout to the heavens as loud as you can, briefly startling the massive skeletal creature, "HELP!"

The skeleton's teeth clack together close to your nose and it throws its head back, shrieking out a grating laugh that sounds more as if it's trying to gargle a couple of nails.

With a low growl, it drops it head again and exhales sharply through it's nose, twin streams of cold air rushing out and hitting your face. Movement to your right catches your attention and you flick your gaze down to it, horrified to find that the skeleton's right hand is balled into a fist and is raising up over it's head.

Kicking out with your legs, you try to land a blow on its bony thigh. But its arms are too long and it holds you just out of reach. Suddenly, an idea springs to mind, one so simple, you kick yourself for not having thought of it sooner. Without hesitating a second further, you yank your arms through the holes in your jumper and duck your head, slipping free and falling to the ground. The skeleton grunts in surprise and throws the article aside to roar down at you as you struggle to your feet.

You shriek, throwing your arms up when it lunges, however, before it can get it's sharp claws on you, a familiar, curved blade suddenly bursts out of its flesh, impaling the ice skeleton right below its sternum. It gives off one, wet grunt and then falls limp, dead….Deader

Your eyes are fixed on a pair of brown, leather boots, one of which lifts to kick the fallen creature out of the way. Tentatively, you trail your gaze up and up until you're once again staring into the face of Death. Throwing his scythe back onto his belt, he glowers at you disdainfully and raises a finger to say something, although he soon catches sight of your jumper, laying on the snowy ground. Scowl deepening, Death stalks over to it and plucks it up. He returns to you and, without waiting for you to take it, balls it up and throws it down to you. "Here," he grumbles, "every layer counts in this realm. Especially to a human."

Unable to stand the abominable cold any longer, you give Death a wary once-over - unaware that he's doing the same to you -before stuffing your hands back into the arm holes and pulling the jumper over your head, sighing at the brief respite it grants you from the air.

Momentarily forgetting yourself, you pop your head out of the top and quietly whisper a quivering, "Thank you."

Death blinks, eyes going round in surprise. "You are…" he clears his throat awkwardly, "welcome."

Patiently, he waits for you to finish adjusting your clothes. "So. Still convinced this a dream?" he asks, pulling something else from a pouch on his belt.

Now, excruciatingly cold and far too tired both physically and emotionally, you inhale deeply through your nose and exhale. You repeat the motion a few times, just to calm down. It helps, but only fractionally, enough to raise your head and stammer between violent shivers, "Mo-more like a n-nightm-mare."

'Progress, at last,' he thinks.

This time, when Death reaches for you, you only flinch away. You don't go into a full-blown panic like last time. "Relax," he mutters with a roll of his eyes, "I'm only trying to give you this."

Slowly, he opens his large hand and uncurls his fingers, revealing a familiar object you'd completely forgotten about until now. It sits easily in the palm of his hand, looking so tiny and ineffective.

"My..my gun!" you gasp, tentatively reaching for it. Hesitating before you grab it, you squint up at him, your brow slowly furrowing. You jump when he suddenly shakes it at you and barks, "Well? Take it. I don't have all day."

'Not strictly true,' he muses, but doesn't think it relevant.

Nodding quickly, you snatch the gun out of his hand and clutch it in both hands, a wave of relief cascading over you when you feel it's weight. Already, you feel safer. At last, curiosity begins to dribble into your mind so you look up dazedly and tilt your head to the side, regarding Death for a moment. "But. Why?" you ask.

He busies himself by fiddling with the bandages around his wrists, replying, "You dropped it, after you shot that phantom general. I thought you might want it, so I grabbed it when I grabbed you."

You can't help yourself. You have to ask, "But…a-aren't you afrai-"

"Afraid that you'll use it to shoot me?" he interrupts. With a snort, Death crosses his arms across his chest and peers at you down his nose ridge. "You can go ahead and shoot me, if you like. I guarantee you won't like the results. You could press that thing against my skull and empty the chamber and it wouldn't really hurt me. I cannot be harmed by one of your flimsy, mortal weapons." His voice turns smug and you can practically see the smirk beneath his mask. "One of the perks of being Death, little human. You'll find I'm veryhard to kill."

Interestingly enough, the pistol isn't anywhere near as reassuring now. Swallowing thickly, you curl your legs away from him and tense your shoulders. Taking notice of this, he considers you for a while and hums pensively. Then, his demeanour changes. In the blink of an eye, he unfolds his arms and any trace of superiority disappears from his eyes. "If I wanted to kill you," he explains more softly, "I would have left you to die when those demons attacked."

"De-demons!" you squeak, pressing a hand to your chest. "Those things were..demons!?"

One of his eyes narrows. "You..have no idea what's happening, do you?" he says slowly. When you shake your head, Death blows out his cheeks and rests a hand on his hip. "Well, I can shed some light on the subject, but not here. If I try to explain everything here, you'll just freeze where you sit, and then where will we be? Now, come along."

Bending down, he doesn't give you the chance to escape before he curls his fingers into the shoulder of your jumper and hauls you up and onto your feet. You're about to start fighting him off, but he lets go and watches you with an unreadable expression. "I-I don't want to go with you!"

His only response is a languid blink.

"I…I want to go home."

Overhead, the wind howls and huge chunks of nearby mountain peaks break off, tumbling down into the abyss below the clouds. All the while, you and Death are locked in a terse staring match, one that you both know he will win. To your surprise, Death breaks eye-contact first. With a shrug, he makes a show of inspecting the dirt beneath his nails. "Suit yourself," he hums, "No skin off my back. After all, now that you've got your gun, nothing in this realm stands a chance." He turns on his heel and begins trudging back the way he came, calling over his shoulder, "Good luck. I imagine you'll need a lot." With that, he gradually begins to be obscured by the falling flakes of snow.

"Hey, wait!" you shout, glancing around nervously, on the very cusp of panicking again, "At least…tell me which way home is!"

Thankfully, Death draws to a halt a fair distance from you, looking back. "I told you, you'll find no way back to Earth from this realm, and even if you could, your home is gone. There's nothing left to go back to!"

Unable to form a response, you gulp in air, feeling a heavy weight settle back over your heart. The sensation doubles when he begins to stroll further away again and you realise, with a hot thud of dismay, that the safest place you could be right now, is more than likely at his side.

Stranded on a strange mountain, alone, cold, afraid and exhausted, you drop your head onto your chest, clamp your eyes shut and stuff your bottom lip into your teeth in an attempt to kickstart a bout of courage.

Indecisively, you turn your head to peer down the mountain, away from Death. You could try to make it alone, but then again, you hadn't made it a hundred yards before that skeleton monster appeared. You'd only survived because the strange, terrifying man calling himself 'Death' had saved you. Without answers, armed only with a small pistol carrying four bullets, you reluctantly drag your head back in the direction he'd disappeared, now completely invisible in the flurry of snowflakes.

You put the gun into your waistband again before jamming your fingers under your armpits and draw in a long breath. "Hey, wait!" you yell, hurrying after what's possibly the most dangerous person you've ever met in your life.

Death tries not to let his smugness show in his eyes when he hears the rapid crunching of snow underfoot approaching from behind. out of the corner of his eye, he sees you sidle up beside him, maintaining a wide distance between you both but keeping pace, all the same. Softly, you ask, "Can I come with you?"

"What changed your mind?"

Giving a little shrug, you rub at your arms and shiver as a gust of wind picks up. "M scared."

"Good," he replies immediately, "A little fear can be a very sensible thing, but it can also be quite counter-productive."

"What happened?"

Death shoots you a sideways glance, noticing that you're keeping your eyes on the toes of your shoes, walking stiffly. He can smell your fear of him rolling off you in waves. Despite the broad question, he knows what you're asking. "You've heard of the apocalypse?" he asks.

You nod, swallowing down a sob. Yes, you've heard of it, you just don't want to believe it.

"Well, that's what happened to your Earth," he continues, pretending that he didn't notice you smack a hand over your mouth to hide a wail of despair. "But it was never supposed to."

That got your attention. "What?"

Death grumbles. "Someone triggered the apocalypse prematurely and framed my brother, War, for the crime. I intend to find out who did that, and why. Then, I'm going to kill them." Lowering his voice, he sighs. "But first, I intend to prove my brother's innocence-" He peers down at you, gauging your reaction when he adds, "-by resurrecting humanity."

To his surprise, rather than surprised or elated, as he'd expected, you merely furrow your brow, clinging to the sleeves of your jumper. "So….they're really gone…"

He doesn't say anything, and you find your answer in that.

The two of you walk on through the snow in silence for a while before his ears perk up at you mumbling, "So…how're you gonna get them back?"

"I don't know," he answers honestly, "That's what I'm here to find out. I need to consult the Crowfather. If anyone can point me in the right direction, it's that old twit."

The reaper raises an eyebrow at an explosive sneeze that abruptly bursts out of you. Wiping your nose, you cast your gaze up to the sky, spotting a pitch black shape of Death's crow soaring hundreds of feet over your heads. "The who?"

Grimacing, Death picks up his pace, which prompts you to trot after him in an effort to keep pace, apparently not picking up on his ploy to warm you up. "Stick close," he orders, "And you'll soon find out. I warn you though, he doesn't take kindly to visitors, even those he's expecting."

"….Death, was it?" you ask out of the blue, at last raising your glistening eyes to his face, "Did….did you say your brother's name is….War?"

"I did," he bobs his head, eyeing the looming cliff face up ahead that blocks your path.

"That wouldn't….make you the…the um…the…"

"The horsemen of the apocalypse?" he finishes for you impatiently, "Yes. It would."

"Oh," you rasp, pursing your lips and nodding, "Shit."


	3. Old Man of the Mountain

If you asked a friend to describe you in one word, you're fairly certain that 'brave' wouldn't be their first choice. And, in all honesty, you'd be inclined to agree.

You aren't brave. Not really. Not in the ways that matter. You're just notoriously good at making rash decisions and charging into danger, only to begin regretting your hasty judgement almost immediately. That isn't brave.

Now, stupid would be more apt.

Which is why it doesn't sting too much when Death calls you a coward.

You suppose that's fair. But then again, he's used to seeing a nineteen hand zombie-horse burst from the snow-covered ground in an explosion of green mist and spectral whinnies.

For the umpteenth time today, your piercing scream rends the air and you stagger backwards until you bump painfully against Death's hard chest.

"Given your antics back on Earth, I'd have never taken you for such a coward," he gripes, taking one of your shoulders in each hand and sliding you over to the horse.

"Wo-ah! Wait a second!" You push back against his unwavering grip to no avail, staring agape at the giant steed. "What is that thing?!"

'That thing' gives you a dirty look, flattening it's bony ears against a gangling neck.

"He is a horse," Death says flatly, "I'm surprised you don't recognise a horse when you see one."

With a gentle shove, you find yourself standing below it's muzzle, craning your neck up to see it glaring down at you, unblinking. Meanwhile, Death walks around the great beast and places one foot in a large, metal stirrup, pulling himself into the saddle.

"That is not a horse!" you yelp, eyeing the exposed fangs jutting from it's upper jaw, "that is a kelpie on steroids!… Does this thing eat meat?"

"On occasion," Death replies with a shrug, taking up the reins, "though I'd be more wary of Dust on that front, if I were you."

You throw a mistrustful look to the crow that's perched himself on the saddle-horn and rub at the welt his beak left in your finger. "Yeah, I'm with you there.."

"In his defence, he was only trying to help you 'wake up.'" Tilting his head to the side, Death studies you for a moment, wondering why you're still rooted to the spot and haven't mounted yet. "Not a horse person?" he guesses.

You scoff, taking a step back when the steed tosses its wispy mane and paws at the ground, sensing his rider's impatience.

"Oh no. Horses are fine. I like horses. It's just, this thing is-"

Harrumphing, Death clears his throat and reaches down to rest his hand on Despair's neck. "I would advise against insulting him," he warns, "Despair is inclined to take things to heart.

"His name is Despair?" You quirk an eyebrow and look the horse over, unable to suppress a conforming nod. "That's….fitting."

Despair flicks his ears forwards curiously at the sound of his name and lowers his head, blowing a gust of cold air out through his…he doesn't have nostrils…

Regardless, it blows your hair back off your face.

The spectral horse whickers softly as he stares into your eyes, Death grumbling under his breath, "Will you hurry up and introduce yourself. I'd rather not linger in this realm any longer than I have to."

Luckily for the horseman, you're too busy matching Despair's luminous gaze to notice him furrow his brow beneath the mask, humming at the shivers that occasionally wrack your tiny body.

Tentatively, you allow yourself to be sniffed as you slowly raise your quivering hand to brush lightly over Despair's cold, hairless muzzle. When he doesn't immediately snap your fingers off, you venture to lay your palm flat over his nose, the heel of your hand pressing up against his front teeth that are uncovered by any semblance of lips

"Wow," you breathe, the corner of your mouth twitching up into a tiny smile, "You are…quite terrifying, you know that?"

By way of a reply, the horse gives you a proud snort and a lazy blink, letting his ears droop. Your hands - unlike Death's - are pleasantly warm and soft against his muzzle and the way your fingertips trace up and down the length of his nose bone is arguably one of the most incredible things he's ever felt.

From the saddle, Death observes the exchange and quirks a thoughtful brow, humming low in his chest. All it took was a little gentleness from the horse and your fear had all but dissolved. After allowing his mount another few seconds of affection, he clears his throat and tugs on the reins. "If you're quite finished, I'd like to make a move before this one freezes," he mutters gruffly, nodding towards you.

The horse's ears fall flat against his skull and he reluctantly lifts his head, letting your hand slide down his jaw before it falls back to your side. Without warning, the horseman clicks his tongue and Despair whirls bodily about-face, forcing you to stumble away to avoid being knocked over. Before you can make it too far though, Death leans to the side and reaches down to wrap his fingers around your upper arm.

"Hey!" you cry out, startled at the inexhaustible strength laying hidden beneath a thin layer of pale skin, "what're you-!"

Rather than let you finish your sentence, he effortlessly lifts you into the air, only to drop you roughly onto the saddle in front of him.

Mouth hanging open, stunned, you make eye contact with Dust, frowning when he cocks his head and gives you a squawk of greeting. "Uh…Hi?" you stammer. He bobs his head and opens his wings, flapping madly into the air. A second later, you realise why.

There's barely enough time to throw your hands around the saddle horn before Despair suddenly rears back onto his hind legs and stretches his jaw open wide to release a haunting whinny, somewhat lost to the howling of wind.

In a burst of motion, he launches himself forwards like a bullet, bursting into a hard gallop.

The unladylike word that blows past your lips is also drowned out and the uncomfortable closeness of the horseman pressing his cold chest into your back doesn't help your mounting terror. You still don't think its prudent to trust anyonewho introduces himself as 'Death,' and not to mention claims to be one of the biblical horsemen. Unfortunately, the proof that's been presented to you thus far has left verylittle room for argument.

So here you are, bent over the neck of a half-decayed horse with its master's strong, ashen arms stretched around you at either side, keeping you from slipping out of the saddle as you careen along the narrow, icy mountain path.

Hundreds of questions linger at the very tip of your tongue, but to ask them, you would need to shout to be heard over the pounding of hooves and the air roaring past your ears. So, lacking both the energy and the courage to shout, you keep your mouth clamped shut and duck your head against the icy wind that bites at your cheeks and stings your eyes.

Death spares you a cursory glance before he gives Despair's reins a flick, spurring the horse on just a little faster and kicking up a vortex of snowflakes as he goes.

—-

It could have been hours since you began to ride. Or it could have been mere minutes. Time feels stretched and warped here, the mountain never seems to change. Just the same grey rocks and stark white snow that flies past at a rate of knots. For a while, you can busy your mind by staring at the green, spectral faces that occasionally slip out from the rotting holes in Despair's neck. They appear so briefly before whisking past your head and getting dispersed to the wind as your little group gallops along the mountain path, you can't be sure they aren't simply figments of your imagination.

Just as the ghostly faces start to lose their enrapturing appeal, Despair suddenly throws his head back and neighs shrilly, thundering to an unsteady halt at the base of a sheer cliff. The chest pressing up against your back rumbles gently as Death speaks. "We're here."

Slowly, you pry your numb fingers off the saddle-horn and peer around uncertainly, still hunched in on yourself as though expecting a sudden attack from some, unseen assailant.

'Here' doesn't seem to be an apt description. Upon taking a moment to nervously study your surroundings, you find that you're still in the middle of nowhere, at a perfectly dead end.

"We..we are?" you shiver as Death lifts himself from the horse's back and jumps elegantly back into the snow.

"Well, if you're going to be fastidious, then no. Not quite," he grouches, standing back to watch you swing your right leg over the saddle, "Incidentally, how are you at climbing?"

With a surprised grunt, you drop to the ground a good few feet further than you'd anticipated and stumble on uneven feet into a steadying hand. Death's chuckle is as condescending as he can make it. "From the looks of it, not very good." He pushes you upright again, allowing you to turn and fix him with a huffy glower.

"What are you talking about? You don't mean climb that?" You nod towards the cliff.

"It's the fastest way to get to the Crowfather's main chamber," he explains and glances over your shoulder, waving a hand gracefully through the air.

Behind you, Despair gives a farewell whicker, rearing up and disappearing back into whatever realm he'd been pulled from in a burst of sallow green light.

"Therefore," the horseman continues, taking a calculated step up to you and measuring the tentative step you take away from him, "we climb."

Looking down at the suede, black kitten heels that cover the barest part of your feet, you laugh wetly, shaking your head. "What? In these shoes? I don't think so."

The horseman, for lack of any delicate tact, heaves a considerably long sigh and turns with hands on his hips to glare up at the cliff face. "I thought as much."

Dimly, you feel the instinctive need to say sorry prickle at the back of your throat, though you quickly swallow the apology as it creeps onto your tongue. Why should you apologise? It's not as though the inability to scale an icy cliff is a common inconvenience to people. Still, you bite your lip and frown at your shoes, as though they really are the sole reason that you can't climb.

A shadow slinks over the snow and stops inches from the toes of your shoes, prompting you to look up and gulp at the sight of Death regarding you expectantly.

"You know what this means, yes?" he says.

More than a little hopeful, you screw your face up into a hesitant smile and reply, "I get to stay here?"

He bows his head, blinking down at you flatly and pointedly.

Slowly, your face droops. "I have to climb?" you guess.

Huffing, Death's eyes snap to the skies above, exasperated. "No. That'll take too long. It means I'm going to have to carry you."

"Oh…."

"Unless you'd prefer to stay here and freeze to death?"

"…."

A slow frown pulls his eyebrows together. "Would you, human?"

"…Y/n."

In an instant, Death's eyes flash, curious. "Y/n? That's your name."

Silently, you nod, chewing thoughtfully on your bottom lip and considering whether or not he even cares what he calls you. So you're left relatively amazed when the pale rider bobs his head pensively and repeats your name in a soft voice. "Y/n, then….Do you trust me?"

Would it anger him when you say no?

After a second or two, you decide to simply shrug noncommittally and avoid his fiery gaze.

With a rough sigh, Death twists his head to the side, staring at something invisible in the distance.

In the quiet, you get up the nerve to peek at the underside of his mask as you suppress another uncontrollable shiver. It takes a few more moments of staring at nothing before his eyes flick back onto you.

"Fair enough," he rumbles, "Then I apologise for this."

"For what?"

You're starting to notice a recurring theme. One where you keep getting manhandled without a single, courteous word of warning.

In one, swift motion, Death spins around so that his back is to you and swings an arm behind him, his palm catching your backside and hoisting you up onto his curved spine, your legs sliding naturally around a skinny but powerful waist.

With a yelp, you instinctively clutch at his solid shoulders and in doing so, allow him the opportunity to grab your wrists in both hands and give your arms a sharp tug, wrapping them firmly around his thick neck. Then, without giving you the chance to get your bearings, he takes your forearms in one hand, holding them in place and takes a running leap at the side of the cliff.

Death sails straight up into the air and snags a jutting piece of rock with his free hand, digging the toes of his boots into another gap.

"Son! Of! A! Bitch!" you hiss through gritted teeth, burying your face into his matted, black hair and punctuating each word with a kick of your heel against his stomach, "Stop grabbing me!"

The horseman grins beneath his mask at the feeble kicking and braces his feet against the wall, keeping his hand snugly around your wrists when he launches himself up again and sweeps his arm in a graceful arc to curl his fingers around another handhold somewhere several feet above his head.

You scream with fright and twist your head over your shoulder to look down at the snowy ground, now a sizeable distance below you.

Once again, his staggering strength and agility both unnerves and amazes you. He's scaling the wall like some kind of oversized beetle with only one arm and a trembling human clinging to his back.

"You know, if you'd've just asked, I might have gotten on your back willingly!" you rasp, tearing your eyes off the drop below you and pushing your face back into the questionable safety of the horseman's hair.

Unwittingly, Death's eyes go round when he feels your shuddering breath against the back of his neck. Briefly, he laments on the warmth of your body on his, how unfamiliar it is, as alien to him as a heartbeat, which he can also feel pounding furiously through your chest against his back.

"You might have refused." He pauses to scrabble up a particularly slippery stretch of cliff. "I don't have that kind of time, I'm afraid."

"Whatever!" you squeak, "Just don't drop me!"

"No promises," he mumbles.

After a soft whimper at his flippant reply, you fall silent again and focus on keeping your legs wrapped tightly around his waist. Evidently, he's tired of conversation as well, for he simply shrugs his massive shoulders, hefting you up a little higher up on his back before continuing the arduous task ahead of him.

The ordeal is over surprisingly quickly.

Before you know it, the horseman is letting go of your forearms and hoisting you over the lip of the rocky cliff.

"There. Now we're here," he grunts, standing up and shaking his arms out. When you don't respond, he cranes his head to the side and tries to peer at you. "Human?"

You haven't even noticed, but your hands are still clutched around his neck in a grip that could put a pro wrestler to shame. He waits a few more seconds for you to respond. When you don't, he inhales deeply. "Y/n?"

Abruptly, your eyes snap open and you whip your head about, finally realising where you are and what you're doing "Oh shi-!" In an instant, you snatch your arms away and drop from his back. "Sorry! Sorry!"

The white death-mask turns in your direction briefly, amber eyes finding yours and stilling you with a mere look. You remain like that for some time, locked in yet another staring contest with a bonafide horseman of the apocalypse. But tis time, the expression hidden behind those terrible eyes is one you'd associate with curiosity, inquisitiveness rather than malice or asperity. 'What are you looking for?' you wonder, slowly narrowing your eyes.

Then Death blinks, and the look is gone.

"Mind the cliff," he mutters gruffly, turning away and stalking deliberately down a tall, wide tunnel carved into the side of the mountain, through which you can make out the shape of something huge and dark moving slowly behind an ethereal, blue light.

Glancing back, you start when you realise that you are indeed barely a foot away from a painful plummet. Pulling your face into a grimace, you rub at your arms and follow after the bizarre horseman.

The icy walls of the tunnel glisten prettily - all greens, blues and silvers and you smile gently, staring at your warped reflection as it walks along beside you. "Death?" Piping up tentatively, you bravely amble a little closer to his side and crane your neck back to look up at him,"Can..can I ask you-"

"I told you. I will answer your questions later."

Your forehead creases into a hard scowl. "But you said that last time! I just want to know wh-"

"Y/n," he barks suddenly and whips his head over a shoulder to glare at you, cutting you off and making you suck down a nervous gasp, "This is neither the time, nor the place. You will get your answers when I deem it fit to give them, not a moment sooner. Am I clear?"

His voice is sharp as a whip-crack and colder than the ice you walk on. Swallowing down a watery sob, you offer him a shaky nod. Once you do, you can't be entirely sure, but you think those blazing eyes soften just a fraction.

"Good," he says as he faces forwards again, "Now, stay close, stay quiet, and let me do the talking."

"Okay," you croak, feeling like a thoroughly admonished pre-schooler.

Satisfied, the tall horseman strides on.

Heeding his first instruction, you hurry to close the distance between you, sticking as close to his back as you dare without actually treading on the heels of his boots.

Up ahead, the tunnel opens out into an enormous, open chamber, hollowed out of the very mountain itself. Your eyes grow wider and wider with each step you take and unbeknownst to you, your mouth hangs open, awed by the sight.

At the far end of the room stands a pair of huge, stone statues of dark granite that depict perched crows, both of which overlook a jagged, icy throne where a figure sits hunched and dark against the cold sunlight behind it.

Your eyes are drawn to several monumental circles of floating rock that hang suspended in the air high above the throne, each one beautifully carved into a circle, or semicircle that rotate around each other gracefully, like an enormous, intricate planisphere.

"Hoooly crap," you breathe, "This place is impossible!"

A loud squawk alerts you to the approach of a crow and you barely manage to duck in time as Dust soars over your head into the chamber in front of you and Death, who makes his way purposefully towards the throne and the figure sitting in it.

The bird lands on one of the armrests and hops around to face you as the stranger mutters something under its breath and clutches at a balding head.

"Keeper of secrets," Death calls suddenly, earning the attention of the figure who's head snaps up at the sound of his gravelly voice, "I need your help."

The person in the throne draws back and in doing so, moves their hands away from their face, causing you to hastily slap a hand over your mouth, muffling the gasp that jumps up your throat.

Eyes of gleaming jade widen inside dark, wrinkled sockets of a face so old and haggard, the skin hardly seems to fit properly around the skull it's supposed to cover. A beard as white as the snow on the mountain, hangs from a stubborn chin and his bushy eyebrows shoot up an already well-creased forehead. Feathers of darkest onyx surround the collar of his tattered robes and somehow bristle and rumple in response to the horseman's approach. Whoever this man is, you can't help but believe that he exudes about as much power and authority as Death does, despite his ancient, gnarled hands and crooked teeth.

When he speaks, his voice is rasping and strident, well-befitting the man it belongs to. "I helped you once before, Horseman!" he snaps and points a long, clawed fingernail at Death accusingly, "Look at me now! How I curse that day. How I curse you." As he sweeps a hand through the air, you take note of the heavy manacles hanging from his skinny wrists and the chains they're attached to that loop around his sides before they disappear up behind his hunched back. Distantly, you wonder what he did to earn the shackles, or if they're nothing more than a choice of aesthetic.

Given the things you've seen so far, you honestly wouldn't be surprised..

Drawing to a stop, Death squares his stance and holds his hand up in a motion you assume is meant to be sedative, though his voice is laced with a hidden threat. "Careful, Crowfather. I'm not here to put you out of your misery," he warns, adding softly, "Not yet…"

'The Crowfather's' hands slam aggressively on the arms of his throne and he pushes himself right out of the seat, lurching towards the top of the stone steps and glaring down at Death with his fearsome, green eyes.

The moment he leaves the chair, the horseman's arm jerks to the side and he splays his fingers out, palm facing you. Staring down at it, you blink at the unexpectedly protective action.

Above you, the old man's sharp eyes spy you from behind Death's bulk and a flicker of surprise shoots across his features. After a moment though, he masks the bewildered look and spares you little more than a derisive sniff as he continues, "I know why you have come. Your brother, the one called War. He's been imprisoned by the Charred Council and awaits their judgement. For dooming the Earth…" He jabs a hand in your direction. "For her kind's extinction. Why should I care about your brother's fate?"

Death moves forward and rests one foot on the bottom step, leaving you to determine whether you'd rather move with him or maintain a 'safe' distance from the increasingly irate father of crows. "Because you know the truth," he answers gently, "Your secrets can save him."

The entire interaction is lost on you. It's abundantly clear that these two have a long and complicated history, one that you daren't ask about for fear of attracting their ire.

Suddenly, the old man throws his head back and cackles harshly. "The Council will condemn War!" he chortles, almost gleefully, "Strip him of power, let him rot in Oblivion….to hide the truth!" As he speaks, Death rolls his pale shoulders and begins to stalk deliberately up the staircase towards him. However, he soon stops, casting his orange eyes to the ground when he's told, "My secrets cannot prove his innocence, Horseman."

Shaking his head, Death agrees, "No…but they can help me to erase the crime.."

'Erase the crime?' you wonder, cocking your head to the side, 'What does that mean?' Luckily for you, the Crowfather helpfully elaborates. A scrawny hand raises to stroke his beard and he meets your gaze for a second. "Bring Mankind back from extinction?!" He waves dismissively. "Bah. Madness!"

There it is again! That inkling trace of hope! The mention of restoring humanity and putting everything back the way it was before. Your breath catches in your throat and you don't miss the way Death's head tilts ever so slightly in your direction, silently reminding you to stay quiet. Reluctantly, you bite down on your tongue and the urge to ask this Crowfather if it's even possible for Death to do as he claims.

Ascending a few more steps until he at last reaches the top of the stone staircase, your acquaintance gestures towards the older figure and chuckles mockingly, "If it's madness, then who better to show me the way?"

For some, inane reason, your heart rate starts to creep up steadily the further Death moves from your side. Tears threaten to start pricking at the corner of your eyes along with a rising tide of fresh anxiety that claws insistently, deep in your intestines. Throwing aside your tentative caution of the crooked old man, you make the decision to scurry after the horseman, tripping clumsily up the steps until you skid to a halt behind him and peek around his bulging triceps to find the Crowfather blinking owlishly at you, as though he's thrown off by your willingness to venture closer.

With his sunken eyes never leaving your face, he floats to the side, hardly seeming to touch the ground as he sweeps his fingers up through the air, provoking you to jump out of your skin when a swirling, black and purple vortex suddenly whirls into existence before you and Death. "Should a way exist," the old one says, "you will find it here.

"Woah," you whisper, drawing away from the ominous portal and staring, wide-eyed at the strange and alien landscape shimmering beyond it.

A rolling valley of greens, golds and earthy browns stretches far into the distance. Great forests of towering trees sit just beyond the grassy meadow, a light mist curling between their trunks and coating each golden leaf in a layer of glistening dew that sparkles brilliantly in an early-morning sunrise.

But by far the most spectacular sight is the impossibly tall, impossibly wide tree that looms over the valley like a skyscraper, soaring high above everything else with it's branches stretching up until they disappear into a thin layer of wispy, white clouds.

You're pulled from your enraptured trance when Death suddenly moves towards the portal, reaching out a tentative hand and softly murmuring, "The Tree of Life."

Absently, he beckons you to follow.

In lieu of any better ideas, you do, obediently ambling along behind him and casting a wary glance at the Crowfather.

All of a sudden, just as you're mere feet from the sinister doorway and your beating heart skyrockets at the prospect of subjecting yourself to yet another gut-scrambling, inter-dimensional leap, the old one snaps his hand into a closed fist, banishing the portal before you can reach it.

"Hey! What?" you promptly exclaim at the same time as the horseman turns a murderous glare onto the Crowfather and growls, "Let us pass!"

"Not yet!" comes the rasping, frenzied reply, "That which you gave to me…" He trails off and slides his bony fingers down a chain that hangs from his scrawny neck, at the end of which dangles a glowing pendant, as green as the old one's eyes. He holds it up for you to see, fixing the horseman with a demanding sneer. "You will take it back!"

Nervous, you peek up at Death when you hear him suck in a sharp breath beneath his mask, his pale body going rigid save for one hand that rises from his side to jab an accusing finger at the old man. "In exchange for its secrets, you agreed to keep the amulet."

"Death?" you whimper as you start to notice the tangible aggression that drips from his tongue like poison. However, he shushes you roughly, eyeing the Crowfather who thumps the heels of his hands against a hairless skull, hissing in distress.

"No…The voices, they curse and threaten without end. They cry to return." Suddenly, he lurches forward and shakes the amulet with insistent vigour. "You MUST destroy it!"

And Death, the indomitable horseman of the apocalypse and the most terrifying creature you've ever had to lay your mortal eyes on, bows his head and exhales a quiet, solemn sigh. "I…cannot," he rumbles, eyes cast to the ground in a manner so unlike anything you've seen from him yet.

In that moment, you could almost forget who and what he is.

In that moment, you almost swear he looks human.

The Crowfather's lip curls and he scoffs. "You annihilated their flesh, why do you guard their souls!?"

For some time, the only sound that fills the chamber is that of your chattering teeth and the occasional whistle of cold wind. Then, Death's hands ball into fists before he abruptly snatches his scythes from his belt and shoves you roughly backwards with an elbow. "Open the portal," he seethes, teeth grit and nostrils flared.

"Woah, Death!" you exclaim, recovering quickly from the hard push and jogging around in front of him to hold your arms out placatingly, "Calm down! Whos' souls? What's he talking about?"

But with his fiery glare currently trying to burn a hole through the Crowfather's forehead, he simply uses the back of a strong wrist to once again hustle you aside with a little too much force. You hit the ground with a heavy 'thud' and bite back an 'ouch!', squeezing your eyes shut.

Your coccyx is definitely going to hurt in the morning.

Groaning, you blink painfully up at the horseman, who's eyes dart rapidly between you and the old one. For a second, you think he's about to apologise, but then the Crowfather speaks up, cackling cruelly as the feathers on his collar ruffle in response to an upsweep of static energy that raises the hair on your arms. "Why not tell her, Death?" he asks, "Why not tell her what you are? The things you've done? Would she think so highly of you then?"

"I never exactly thought very 'highly' of him to begin with.." you grumble from the floor.

"Because," the horseman bites, ignoring the unwelcome ache of guilt gnawing at his insides, "it's none of her business."

The Old one sniffs and moves his head to address you. "You will soon find, human, that Death's motives are often shrouded in darkness, obscured to all but himself." He lowers his voice, drawing his lips back over yellowing teeth and furrowing his bushy eyebrows down at you. "You are here. You aren't dead on Earth. That means the horseman saved you. But did you ever ask yourself, why?"

"I-I don't know!" you stammer truthfully, still sitting on the ground, "I haven't really had the time to think about it!"

"You don't think it was an act borne of compassion, do you? Pah! Mark me, young one, you would be wise not to trust him."

Death's sharp bark rings out over your attempted reply. "Enough!" he bellows, "Crowfather. I won't ask you again. Open. The. Portal!"

Now more unsure than ever, you bite down on your lip, hard and twitch your head, first in Death's direction, then the Crowfather's.

Far above your head, lightening strikes illuminate the sky and deep below you, the mountain moans and rumbles. It's as if the whole realm is coming alive to the promise of an infringing battle.

The old one sweeps his arms out to each side and bows his head slowly, glowering darkly at the horseman. "You will not pass while I live."

You gasp. This situation is quickly getting out of hand and - not for the first time - you realise just how out of your depth you really are. Stuck between two beings of intangible power with no way to stop it, or to escape. You feel like crying all over again. Helplessness is an ugly feeling.

The horseman blows air through his nose and closes his eyes for a split second, snapping them open again with renewed ferocity swirling within them.

"So be it," he huffs and readies his scythes. Unfortunately, he barely takes a step forward before he's suddenly flung back through the air by a blast of crackling magic, shot straight from the Crowfather's hands.

Shrieking, you fling yourself down, laying flat on your back as it passes you by, so close that you can see the tips of your wayward hair singe away.

"UM!" is all you can yelp.

Now on the other side of the cavern, Death shakes the dust out of his hair and picks himself up off the floor. The Crowfather sweeps past you to the top of the stairs. "Here, your brethren are trapped in eternal torment." He gives the amulet another firm shake. "Do you wish to join them?" Twisting his neck around, he gestures down to where you're struggling to your own feet. "What of her? Would you drag along an innocent child on your fruitless quest!? It would have been kinder if you'd left her to die on Earth, Horseman!"

You stand at last on shaky legs, shooting Death a questioning look. You don't miss the way his eyes fail to find yours.

"And what of War?" the old one continues, "Would you kill your brother to save your precious balance?"

Even from this distance, you see Death's hackles raise as he snarls hoarsely, "He is innocent!"

"Are you so certain?"

In a flash of blinding light, the Crowfather explodes - quite literally explodes - into a flock of flapping, squawking, shrieking crows and disappears from sight.

The cavern grows eerily silent, save for your hard breathing and scuffling feet on the stone floor. You tense, whipping about to try and locate him as your breath escapes you in little puffs of white cloud. "Death!" you call out, "Death! Where did he go?! What should I do?!"

The horseman's sharp eyes scan the chamber, narrowed and searching. It only takes a few seconds, but he soon finds his quarry.

From the shadows, a titanic figure emerges, much larger than the Crowfather and carrying a sword that's both as long and wide as it's wielder. The newcomer casually approaches Death, swinging the blade about in wide arcs, showing off the weapon's reach and precision.

"Remain where you are," the horseman finally replies without taking his eyes off the old one's dark illusion, "and stay out of my way."

War - or at least, the pale imitation of War - suddenly breaks into a run, charging at the other with all the force of a freight train. Not really thinking, you reach out with a hand and call Death's name, frantic. Though you needn't have worried. For just as the dark, horrifyingly big assailant moves into range, the horseman strafes around behind it and strikes out fiercely at its vulnerable back, drawing a low grunt from it's throat.

As he spins and whirls out of the dark Chaoseater's reach, Death keeps a steady eye on your quivering form at the side of the chamber. Curiously enough, the Crowfather has elected to leave you well alone. 'Interesting,' he thinks, leaping into the air to pass easily over a low sweep of 'War's' blade, 'And here I thought you didn't have any morals, Old One.'

Then again, perhaps the old coot has decided that you simply aren't worth the expulsion of energy.

In the meantime, you're staring at the two warring parties with your fingers wound tightly into your hair, eyes on stalks and brain a jumbled mess of thoughts. "What the Hell is going on?" you breathe softly to yourself, wincing every time those formidable scythes glance off the enormous sword. Helpless, you watch, dimly registering that you're egging on the masked horseman, in spite of the fact that at this point, you really don't know who to trust. For all you know, the Crowfather could be the good guy. His name certainly isn't as inauspicious as 'Death.' Then again, it's the horseman who has saved your life several times now….Well, technically you did save him first…..But that was when you thought he was a fellow human in need.

"Argh!" you blurt, frustrated.

Everything seemed so black and white before. Now?

Now your whole world has gone grey.

You still don't know anything about what's happened to your home. You've no idea what to do, who to turn to or how you're going to get off this mountain if Death doesn't manage to defeat this guy.

The pale rider and the shadow War launch themselves across the chamber at each other and collide with a tooth-rattling boom in the very centre, heaving their respective weapons into the other's, each fighting relentlessly to gain the upper hand.

"C'mon," you whisper under your breath, unaware that your fingernails have split the skin of your palms, "Come on, Death."

A swell of relief nearly sweeps you off your feet when the masked horseman finally knocks the sword aside, sending the bigger creature onto one knee and allowing him to leap over the back of it and try to slash it with his weapon.

However, just before he drives home a winning blow, 'War' turns his gauntlet to block Harvester's blow, forcing Death to use his forward momentum and roll beneath the illusion's arm, putting some distance between him and that wicked blade. He pauses, chest heaving as he risks a quick glance in your direction, feeling a pang of satisfaction at finding you followed his instruction of staying where you are, wringing your hands.

Opposite him, the Crowfather's illusion rights itself and turns its heavily armoured bulk around to face him, readying its sword.  
Death lifts his own weapon but pauses when he hears you call, "Death?"

He twitches his head over one shoulder, curious. "…Be careful!" you finish.

The reaper only just manages to hold in a scoff. Then, bracing his feet against the cold ground, he pushes forwards into a steady charge and swings his scythe up behind him, whilst simultaneously, 'War' pitches straight for him, full tilt and brings the deadly sword into position, aimed to stab into Death's sinewy gut.

You cover your eyes but lift a finger to peek out, only just daring to watch.

At the apex of their bullrush, the two titans move in near sync, throwing their weapons forward with a shout and jarring each other to a crunching halt with an impact that shakes the very foundations of the cavern. From your perspective, it's impossible to tell who dealt the finishing blow. It seems that they've both been impaled on the ends of opposite blades and for a torturously long moment, neither of them move.

Then, at last, the larger one gives an almighty tremble and slumps forwards over Death's scythe and you can at last take a juddering breath.

In one, swift motion, the pale rider tightens his grip on the hilt and gives Harvester a firm yank, pulling it free of his victim's abdomen. The large body crumples to the ground and dissolves in a puddle of oozing, viscous magic, from which fly another several dozen crows. Once the myriad of ebony wings disperses, the Crowfather himself is revealed, laying prone and gasping - somehow still alive - on the ground.

In an instant, you're bounding down the stairs towards the grim horseman. You don't get far before you skid to a stop and let out a shrill "NO!" as Death brings Harvester down onto the old one's spine, spearing him all the way through his chest. Effortlessly, he lifts the limp figure - still stuck on the jagged blade - into the air, bringing him eye level with that fearsome, sunset glare.

The violence of the action gives you pause. "He-hey! Stop!" you stutter, ambling a little closer. The horseman ignores your approach in favour of clamping his hand over the Crowfather's pallid face, pulling him free of the blade and spitting furiously, "Open up the portal!" Without even giving the Old one a chance to respond, he throws the scrawny body to the ground near your feet.

Choking on a wet gasp, the Crowfather collapses in a heap and as he does, the green amulet snaps free of the chain on his neck and skitters across the ground, landing between you and the agitated horseman.

"Your secrets die with you…." Death says, then, more gently, he adds, "…old fool."

Your head shakes slowly side to side. Suddenly, you remember why you'd been so scared of Death in the first place. Frightened anger rears its ugly head and you round on him, eyes flashing, indignant. "Why did you do that?!" you shout accusingly, dropping to kneel by the downed man's shoulder, one hand hovering shakily over the black feathers of his robe which is now seeped in the same dark blood that oozes in rivulets from his mouth and nostrils. "He was already down! You didn't need to kill him!"

Just then, a wet, hacking chuckle draws your wild gaze down to the man on the ground, who weakly raises his head, pulling those thin lips back into an eerie grimace. His fluttering eyes latch onto Death's and he gives the horseman a twisted smile. "My secrets," the old one whispers at him weakly, dropping his gaze to the amulet, "…but not yours…."

Frowning, you follow his line of sight and freeze upon seeing the glowing amulet rattling around on the stone floor. Just then, a crack appears in the side of it and a high pitched screeching sound begins to emanate from within it, a cacophony of ghostly voices wailing through the gap. And then, without warning, the whole thing shatters and a dozen small, sharp pieces of what look like broken crystal levitate in place for a brief moment before they suddenly shoot through the air, right towards the stunned horseman.

"Look out!" you warn. But you know you're already far too late. Every single shard hits him squarely in the chest and imbeds itself beneath his skin. Death's eyes snap up to meet yours and you note that he looks just as confused as you feel. You jump when he cries out suddenly, voiced strained and tight. The muscle-bound horseman - until now, daunting, unassailable and nigh untouchable - curls in on himself protectively and sinks to his knees before collapsing entirely onto his back, wretched agony evident in the way his eyes are screwed shut. To your dismay, his hands go limp and fall with a 'thunk' against the ground where he lays, unmoving.

"Death!" you squeak, pushing yourself to your feet and staggering over to his body.

About halfway to him, your vision starts to swim, so you blink furiously to clear it, though it does you no good.

"Huh?" Your voice sounds so slurred and far away. "Whus happennhng…"

Just as you reach the horseman, darkness clouds the edges of your mind and no amount of head shaking will get it to go away.

Eyes rolling up into the back of your head, you're unconscious before you trip over your own feet and fall heavily onto Death's chest, laying with an arm draped over his waist and your face smushed up against his cold, protruding ribcage.

The last thing you hear before you lose yourself to darkness is the cawing of countless crows, sounding out an operatic requiem for their fallen father.


	4. Monachopsis

You don't remember why you bolted upright in bed, clutching your heart and blanket in separate hands. You can't recall the reason your heart jackhammers inside your ribcage, threatening to burst loose and make a run for freedom.

All you know is that you're suddenly, inexplicably back in your own, warm bed, sitting on top of a soft duvet with your legs swung over the side and your feet planted on the carpet. Sluggishly, you swivel your head from left to right, taking in your surroundings.

"It…it can't be," you breathe, your tentative heart soaring upon discovering that, yes. Those are your walls, your windows and door, your pillows.

You belt out a breathy laugh and rub a shaking pair of hands down your drawn face.

'I'm back! Not a white mask in sight! No gleaming red eyes or old men who turn into crows!'

Just home….

Well…Home and the strange, rhythmic 'ba dum….' 'ba dum….' 'ba dum.…' that seems to emanate from the very walls and sends a tremor through your skull with every beat.

You listen to it for a moment, musing on the fact that you've never noticed such a thing in all the time you've lived here.

'…Oh well!' you think cheerfully, pushing yourself up from the bed -

\- Only to find yourself sitting at the kitchen table, your father opposite with his nose buried in the local newspaper and a hand wrapped snugly around a steaming mug of coffee. "Dad!" you chirp, throwing your arms up excitedly, conveniently glossing over the impossibility of clipping from your room to the kitchen in the blink of an eye.

Through the haze of your elation, your brain registers that you can't smell the coffee granules. Usually, you can always smell the fresh pot he's made early in the morning before he leaves for work, even from your bedroom.

"Oh well,' you beam again, giving yet another mental shrug and deciding that it isn't an important detail. In fact, nothing much matters at this moment because your father is alive and well and he's sitting in his usual spot at the table whilst your mother materialises beside you, sliding a gentle hand over your shoulder and giving it a squeeze.

"Mum! Oh, I'm so glad you guys are okay!" you gush, throwing your arms around her waist, "I had the most stressful dream last night, like you wouldn't believe!"

Neither of your parents decide to respond to that. Instead, it would seem they would prefer to stare at you, unblinking, eyes hard and mouths pulled into painful grins.

Hesitantly, your own smile begins to waver.

A sharp rapping abruptly has your gaze darting towards the kitchen window, where a large, black shape has perched itself on the sill outside.

Swallowing, you frown at your parents as you get up and approach the window with slow, deliberate footsteps. When you draw closer, the dark shape turns into the recognisable silhouette of a bird; a crow to be precise. The sight of it makes your heart plummet down to your feet. It taps it's beak against the glass in perfect synchronisation with the incessant thudding that pounds in your ears. "What?…" you whisper, trembling and desperate, desperate for this all to be real and not what you're afraid it's becoming.

The crow cocks its head to the side and regards you with one, glossy black eye. Then, giving off a deafening screech, it beats its wings and takes to the air. Your eyes bleakly follow it as it soars over a city on fire.

Burning buildings topple under a barrage of falling meteors. Skeletons - stripped of their flesh by bouts of searing heat - litter the roads, remnants of skin barely clinging to the bones and suddenly, in the reflection of the window, you catch sight of a pair of grinning skulls.

Dread, cold and cruel punctures through the blanket of warmth that had so far surrounded you, and though you don't feel cold, you can see goosebumps prickling down your arms. You don't turn around, not because you don't want to, but because you just…can't.

Throat clogged by thick misery - or is it rage? - you force down a warbled sigh, softly choking, "This isn't fair."

Sometimes, there will come a moment in dreams where the dreamer realises that what they're seeing isn't real. When this happens, the illusion is typically shattered, throwing them back into the realm of waking.

But this time, you aren't one of those lucky people. You are among the unfortunate ones who've lost control of their treacherous minds and find themselves trapped.

You don't remember turning, yet somehow, one moment you're staring sadly out at the broken landscape beyond the kitchen window and the next, you're standing before your parents, mere inches from their dead, emaciated faces.

They moan, jaws stretching wide open with flimsy strands of greying hair clinging weakly to the remains of what little skin has managed to keep its hold.

"This is not fair!" you sob again as fat, hot tears squeeze out from between your squinted eyelids. With your feet rooted to the spot, you begin to shake violently, only able to use your arms to slap theirs away when they reach up with exposed finger bones and try to claw at your face. "Stop it!" Get off! I-I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"

Guilt can still be felt in dreams.

"I know! I should have come back for you!"

The rhythmic thumps grow louder and louder still, rattling your burning brain whilst you struggle, screaming and crying against the ghosts of your parents. "This is a dream," you manage to command yourself, "Wake up. Wake. Up!" At your uproarious shout, colours start blurring together, swirling in on each other until everything is out of focus and you can no longer see the haunting visages that roar at you. Your voice grows quieter and lower, "wake up…" you beg, "please….."

Blackness blooms in the centre of your eyes and spreads out to cover the whole world.

And still, you fight..

"Please….wa-"

—

"- ke up, little one."

Something gently nudges your arm and you burst upright, eyes snapping open and a breathless gasp of "DAD!?" blurts from your chapped lips before you can swallow it back.

The first thing you notice is that you're outside somewhere. There's a breeze hitting your face and you can see clouds painting the sky a blessed, beautiful grey overhead. A far cry from the bleeding reds and oranges you remember from earth.

The second thing; that you're much, much warmer than you were before and you can smell again. A forest - pine, you think - and the pleasant scent of faint bonfire smoke.

It was all a dream then? Disappointment settles heavily over your chest and you flop back with a sigh onto a soft surface.

Waking…It just feels like you've been ripped away from home twice.

That's when the headache suddenly flares to the forefront of your attention. A river of liquid fire unexpectedly sears across the left side of your forehead and settles there, curling in throbbing circles directly above your eye.

Gritting your teeth, you tenderly prod the area and wince when pain lances to the back of your skull at the touch.

Through the agony, you realise that you can still hear the dull thudding from your dream, except here it feels as if its coming from somewhere right next to your head. Like the beat of some kind of enormous…

...thundering…

...heart?

The surface you're laying on abruptly shifts, pulling a startled yelp from your lips and causing you to dig your nails into a thick, silky fabric underneath your hands. '_This isn't my duvet!?_' is all your brain can helpfully shriek.

"Steady there, lass," a strange voice booms overhead, "it was nothing more than a bad dream. You're safe now."

Chest heaving and limbs locked tight, you force your head to roll up, seeking out the source of the strong, albeit kind tone.

Tired eyes meet twin pools of misty grey, beset by a tangled myriad of plummetless lines that deepen even further when those heavy-lidded peepers crinkle at the sides, pushed up by a soft smile.

The amicable reassurance that shines earnestly from their depths would work wonders at calming you down….that is, if the face that looms over you didn't belong to an absolute titan of a man.

You'd thought Death had been gigantic but this guy makes him look lilliputian!

If nothing else, at least this new creature's size explains the drumfire that continues to thud beside your head and sends juddering quakes through your comparably tiny body.

Throat too hoarse to scream, you clutch harder to the sleeve below you and gulp audibly, mouth falling open like a petrified goldfish, unable to tear your glassy eyes off his steady gaze.

"Oh Christ," you whimper, recalling every single fairy tale you'd ever read about giants who devour wayward humans as a light snack, "God, give me a break!"

From what little you can gather, you're laying on a giant's arm, tucked securely into the crook of an elbow and held against his mountainous expanse of chest. Robes of a rich, cobalt blue hang just a foot or so above his leather boots and each long sleeve is trimmed with a thick, white fur, the same colour as his immense beard that stretches all the way down to his pelvis and tapers off to a soft point at the end of an expertly-wound plait.

The giant wears an armoured headdress of golden metal, sporting two blunt prongs which sweep up into the air on either side of his head.

A veritable thicket of an eyebrow raises slowly when you feebly attempt to sit up again. However, the second you do, a finger that's almost wider than you are raises into view and the tip of it presses squarely on your chest, pinning you back down.

"No! Stop!" Frantically, you claw at his thick, wrinkly hide and kick your legs uselessly in an attempt to dislodge yourself. "Put me DOWN!"

The old giant's brow dips as a disapproving rumbles travels up his throat and comes out in a hum. "Calm yourself, little human" he reprimands you gently, "the horseman may be able to travel between realms without so much as a scratch, but your body is far more delicate."

When you continue to valiantly fight him off, he clears his throat and nods towards your face. "You're bleeding, youngling."

As if on cue, you become aware of a strange tickle slowly making its way down the side of your face, growing colder as it travels away from your nose.

In a knee-jerk reaction, your hand flies up and you dab at the juncture between your lips and nostrils, pulling away after a moment to find sticky blood colouring your fingertips red.

Now, as far as you were aware, haemophobia has never been a prevalent issue in your life. Sure, it's usually disconcerting to see your own blood on the outside of your body, but you've never really made a fuss about it before…

You stare, dry-mouthed and trembling at your hand while the pulsing ache behind your eyes builds to an excruciating climax.

There isn't a second of warning before your mind is pelted with an onslaught of fresh memories. You can't stop them, you can only look up past your fingers as images flash in front of your eyes like a bad film reel, your pupils blown wide and mouth hanging slightly agape.

You see your workplace colleagues, the people you'd come to call friends laying crushed underneath huge chunks of fallen building, their eyes glassy and blank. Even now, you can recall their piercing cries for help.

All of them - every single one - died scared.

You see the church and the man who's gun you'd found. He's fixed his watery, unseeing stare on you as little rivulets of blood ooze steadily from the gaping hole in the side of his head.

Then, with a blink, he becomes the children in the church, their haunting screams for dead mothers ring hellishly in your ears. Soon, they too fade into darkness.

At last, the face of the kind priest bleeds into view.

Nausea squirms in your guts as your mind's eye watches him open his mouth and shout something at you that you can't hear. The pain in your head suddenly thrums insistently, growing and growing until you can no longer bear the pain, so your lungs expel an agonised wail that tears at the sides of your throat.

"Do something," a faraway voice, familiar and gruff barks nearby. Another voice answers the first, much closer this time. "Hold on…"

There's a loud SNAP!

….And just like that, the fire in your skull is extinguished and the priest's face blurs behind your prickling tears as a light blooms around his head, forcing you to squint against its brightness. With your stomach still churning, you suck in a steadying breath and call out to the fading figure. "F…father?" you groan, raising a shaky hand to shield your eyes.

Clarity dribbles through your hazy head and the face above snaps back into sharp focus with a few more blinks until you're no longer seeing the weary priest, but the giant with kindly eyes, gazing down at you from beneath his heavily shadowed brow. When he realises that you've finally stopped writhing about, the bushy beard surrounding his mouth twitches, pulled up by a smile. "I'm afraid not," he chuckles warmly, "Though I'm sure you'd much rather I was, hmm?"

Too queasy to respond, you simply grimace and cover your eyes with a miserable groan.

—-

Down on the ground, the pale visage of Death watches as the small girl in the maker's arms moans and hides her face.

Later, he'd avidly deny that your bloodied nose and nightmare-induced whimpers had worried him enough to lose his cool and demand that the old one help.

"What did you do?" he queries, at last tearing his mind off you.

The bearded giant – Eideard – releases a long gust of air from his nostrils.

'_He's not even trying to hide his relief_.' Distantly, the horseman wonders what it must be like to wear one's emotions so openly.

"Humans and magic do not often mix," Eideard explains, smiling fondly at your scrunched up face, "and she really is so small, I didn't want to put her under any more strain. It was as simple a healing spell as I could manage."

"How magnanimous of you."

"Guh…guys?"

Their attention is drawn back to you and they blink concurrently, curious to find that you've manoeuvred yourself so that you're laying on your stomach with your upper body draped over the giant's wrist, dirty hair cascading around your downturned face. "Please can you put me down? I…I think I'm gonna be sick.."

Even with the threat of a human emptying it's stomach all over him, Eideard is still hesitant. "Are you sure?" he asks, skeptical about the current sturdiness of your legs.

"Oh, just let her go, Old One," the horseman huffs, "You're frightening her."

He doesn't bother to suppress a snort at the maker's highly affronted glare. Regardless - to the delight of your roiling insides - he bends to a knee and allows you to swing your feet over his arm, sliding to the ground where you stand on wobbly legs.

Sadly, a wave of dizziness sends you crashing onto your hands and knees just moments later, and before you can prepare yourself, a hot, viscous spurt of fluid suddenly rushes out from the pit of your stomach and leaves a stinging burn all the way up your oesophagus. Fortunately – or not, as the case may be – you're heaving on an empty stomach. Clear, sticky bile comes bursting out of your mouth and spills onto the wispy grass below, spattering against the sleeves of your jumper.

The two beings at either side of you share a grimace. In the end, it's Death who slowly ventures closer. "Are you alright?" he murmurs.

Crouched, shaking on the ground, you suck in breath after breath and swallow around the rancid, acrid taste in your mouth. After a minute or two, you inhale deeply through your nose and let it out in a long, exasperated sigh.

"Am I alright…" you echo bitterly, spitting the last of the bile from your mouth as you rattle your way back onto your feet and wipe away the blood from your nose. "Am I….alright?" With all the deliberate slowness of a glacier, you turn around to fix him with one of your most cutting glares. Caught off guard, Death draws his head back as you stalk right up to his chest, jutting your chin out at him defiantly.

Gone is all the fear and dread. You're too tired, too hungry and too beaten down to worry about the alarmingly sharp scythes that are hanging from his belt loops.

"Are you serious!? What kind of question is that? Put yourself in my shoes. I have… NOidea what's going on. One minute, I'm at work, wondering what I'll have for lunch..Next thing I know, I'm being chased through the streets of my city by these..these things straight out of a nightmare!" You card your hands through your hair and let out a short, hysterical giggle. "I'm not on Earth anymore! You know, when I woke up this morning and went to work, I didn't even get to say goodbye to my parents because I was running late!"

Perhaps if Death had understood the significance of a 'goodbye' in human culture, he wouldn't have snorted so disdainfully. As soon as he does, your hands ball into fists, nails digging painfully into the skin of your palms and you curl your lips up over your teeth, gnashing them in a wild display of aggression. "SHUT! UP!"

And Death – the Eldest Horseman. Kinslayer and Executioner, finding himself rendered speechless by the unmitigated rage and fearlessness that explodes out of your mouth – does indeed, shut up.

A cool, autumnal breeze kicks up some of the fallen leaves that lay scattered around the glade, sending them twirling and spinning in their own, personal dance. Overhead, the leaves still attached to their tree branches tremble excitedly until one of their number – small, golden and frayed at the edge – snaps loose, pulled free by the gracious wind. It floats prettily down towards the group of mismatched creatures on the ground. Eideard watches it flutter past his nose and drift over to you where it manages to catch itself in your tousled locks, tangled up within strands of dirty, blood-caked hair. The maker's discerning hum is so low, even at his size, you can't hear it over the whispering wind.

You're so busy swiping angrily at the tears that trickle down your cheeks, you don't even notice it's there. "This isn't funny!" you sob, biting your bottom lip to keep it from quivering, "My mum and dad are…are…Everyone is gone!" Choking on a shuddering breath, you squeeze your eyes shut and hunch your shoulders, bending your head to face the ground.

"Death, I want so badly for this to be a dream. For me to wake up in my bed at home – for real this time – and not be standing here, on a whole other world with you and the - the flipping BFG over there!…No offence," you timidly call back to the maker.

Eyes twinkling with amusement, he simply bows his head and gestures for you to carry on.

After regaining a little composure and forcing the image of your parents' frightened, confused and helpless faces from your mind, you let out a wet breath. "So, no. To answer your question…." you whisper tiredly, "No, I'm not okay."

The horseman remains stock still as you finally coax your head up to look at him, playing with the hem of your sleeves.

A flicker of green light on Death's broad chest catches your eye. "Huh?" Wiping your eyes, you raise your head a little further and let it linger on his pallid skin. Suddenly, you blink the tears from your eyes and gasp softly at the sight in front of you.

Green shards of shining crystal are imbedded deep in the horseman's right pectoral - each one is the same material that had made up the amulet that hung from the Crowfather's neck. Every now and then, small wisps of green smoke emerge in the guise of ghostly faces before they're dispersed to the wind.

Sniffing, you wipe your eyes and reach out with a hesitant hand, anger nearly forgotten, pushed aside by a surge of concern. Your fingertips lightly trace the fraying skin around one of the larger wounds. "But that looks like it hurts," you croak, "A-are you alight?"

Death swallows, adams apple bobbing noticeably under your inspection. Unaccustomed to having someone fret over his wellbeing, he roughly clears his throat and shifts backwards out of your reach. Turning his head to one side, he grumbles "It's nothing."

"A-are you sure?"

The horseman's eyes swivel down to stare at you incredulous. In a bid to distract you from worrying about his wound - his teeth grind together upon noting that you haven't taken your eyes off it - Death grumbles something under his breath, consciously placing a hand over the shattered remains of his amulet. "On the mountain," he starts, drawing your gaze back to his, "I told you that I would answer your questions when we were somewhere a bit safer, did I not?"

A few moments pass where you simply gape at him. But then, just as he opens his mouth to continue, your face transforms from worry and bleakness to something far more hopeful.

Happy suits your face more than sad. It's a good look for you, he admits privately.

"Oh! Yes! Yes, you did!"

He doesn't bother to suppress his amused huff at the distractibility of humans. "So," he cocks a hip and sweeps a large hand through the air before returning it to his belt, "What would you like to know?"

Scrubbing at your eyes with a sleeve and smudging your mascara even further, you nod exuberantly. "Okay, yeah…Alright. First question, what are you?"

Exasperated, his eyes roll up to the sky. "I've told you this. I am Death. A horseman."

"Right," you say, pursing your lips, "But I mean…what species are you? You almost look human! Like, were you a man who was made into a horseman by God?"

A bark of sharp laughter bursts out from beneath the mask and he throws his head back. Even Eideard coughs into his fist to disguise a hearty chuckle. Embarrassed, you fold your arms and mumble defensively, "Well. I wouldn't know, would I?"

"Ha! No, no. I suppose not.." Composing himself, he manages to add, "I'm Nephilim. They are – were – an ancient race, born from the ashes of angels and demons alike."

Unfortunately for him, you took notice of the way he corrected himself and switched to the past tense. Curious, you cock your head and lift a brow. "Were?"

Death freezes, his eyes blown open wide, realising that he'd been caught. "Ah…They're gone," he answers gruffly, shrugging one shoulder to play off nonchalance, "Well…. Save for my siblings and I."

"All of them?"

The horseman nods firmly, his lips pressed into a thin line.

"Oh…"

Suddenly, you feel terribly sheepish.

Here you are kicking up a fuss and you hadn't even considered that you might not be the only one who'd lost something. That's often the way though. In the wake of our own grief, its easy to forget the suffering of others until ours has passed. You chew on your lip and absently rub at the back of your neck. "Hey, uh…Look. I'm sorry-"

"Don't be," he interrupts snappishly, "They don't deserve your pity."

When he jerks his head to the side and doesn't elaborate further, you swallow and open your mouth to ask why, but just then, the giant behind you coughs and ambles forwards, choosing not to comment when you swivel around and back a few, wary steps away from him.

"If I may?" He glances at Death, who averts his gaze and offers silent permission with a dismissive shrug. Having received the horseman's quiet consent, he launches into a speech. "The Nephilim were a cruel and depraved race. Brilliant, certainly. But world destroyers…Slayers of entire species…" The old giant's hands gesticulate elegantly, his voice low and warm. Everything about him commands your attention. Nervously, you throw a quick look over your shoulder at the eerily silent horseman as he continues, "Death here grew tired of the incessant slaughter. He and the others – War, Strife and Fury – broke off and aligned themselves with the Charred Council, who granted them immense power in exchange for their…ah…loyalty. When the Nephilim threatened Eden and the humans who had only just come to call it home, Death led the charge to defend it."

"He…did?" Frowning softly, you turn to face the reaper once more, garnering no information from his closed-off body language, nor from the face hidden beneath that pale mask.

Eideard nods. "Mm. To protect the balance, the four and an elite group of angels, fought a battle that - to this day - is remembered as one of the bloodiest for millennia. The Nephilim were eradicated and Eden was saved."

Fiddling with the sleeves of your jumper, you stare up at Death and whisper, "You killed your whole species…to save mine?"

"We made the decision to curb our brethren's bloodlust long before humans came onto the scene but….essentially, yes," Death replies, "Their destruction was necessary. To protect Eden…and to secure the future of all of Creation. They would not have stopped until they had a world to call their own."

His eyes catch sight of the golden leaf, still fluttering about in your hair. He watches it from under heavy lids whilst you nod slowly, piecing together the information.

"So…you're…you're one of the good guys then?"

The horseman blinks so hard, colourful sparks flash in his field of vision and he tears his gaze off the leaf to squint down at you. "Don't be so naïve," he snaps, "you've no idea the things I've done. You think you were afraid of me before? You wouldn't even be standing here if you knew even a fraction of what I've had to do." His sneer falls when you duck your head and gulp loudly, so he softens his tone, sighing, "Don't mark me a good man, little human. You know not what you say."

"Well…" you stick your lips out, the ghost of a smile gracing your pretty face – Hold on.

Since when had he started using nice adjectives to remark on your appearance.

Apparently not having noticed his wide-eyed stare, you scratch absently at your nose. "You don't strike me as a bad guy."

The horseman's brow dips in a frown, though before he can protest, you quickly pipe up, "You saved me before, from that ice skeleton, on the mountain? A-and you stopped me from getting ripped to pieces by those demons…back on….on Earth." Lowering your head, you scrunch up your nose and peer up at him through wet lashes, still glistening with the remnants of tears. "That's another question I've been meaning to ask you…"

Even though he knew it was coming, Death still hadn't managed to nail down an exact response.

"Why did you take me away from home? I mean, of all the humans you could have rescued, why'd you grab me?"

Behind you, one of Eideard's snowy eyebrows raises interestedly, already wondering the same thing.

To avoid your big, shimmering, annoyingly innocent gaze, the pale rider focuses back on the leaf in your hair and wracks his brain for the right words. He doesn't feel as though he knows you well enough to tell you that, for just a moment, seeing you charge headfirst into a pack of bloodthirsty, ravenous demons whose strength and weapons far exceeded your own, he was reminded wholly of his youngest brother, War. Your eyes wild and hair blasted back from the speed of your mad dash, teeth bared, jaw stretched wide – you were the only human he'd seen that day who ran to the danger, not from it.

In that brief window of time, he'd made the split-second decision to pull you from your dying world. If he were telling the truth, he'd have pulled every human out of it, if given the opportunity. They weren't supposed to die, not like that. Not like cattle.

He'd saved you because you were within reach, you tried to save him first and because the concept of leaving an innocent to die when he could do something about it…just didn't sit right with him.

"Tell me," he suddenly declares "When you ran out of that church and came to my side, what were you thinking."

Flustered, you flinch back as your cheeks turn pink. "I-To be honest, I wasn't thinking..not really. I thought you were another human," you admit, "I couldn't see you through the smoke and just assumed you were a nutcase who thought he could be a hero."

"Is that what you were trying to do?" he asks, "be a hero?"

Shame-faced, you look down at your shoes, scuffing the toes into the grass. "God, no. I'm not brave enough to be one. Too dumb as well."

Eideard's lips part around a silent gasp, disquieted that someone so young could say something so self-deprecating.

"But you tried to help me anyway," Death coaxes, ducking his head to catch your eye, "Why?"

Offering him a shrug, you fill your cheeks with air, then blow it noisily past your lips, "I don't know. I guess, I just.." You pause, finally managing to hold his burning stare for a few seconds. "I just wanted to help."

And there, Death smiles under his mask, satisfied as he nods and folds his arms, waiting for you to connect the relevance of this conversation. Understanding finally dawns on your face after a minute or two of quiet contemplation. "You're saying, you…just wanted to help me?"

Another nod and you blink up at him in awe, a hesitant smile twitching the edge of your mouth. "Huh…Then..thanks." Bolder now, you huff out a quick laugh and shoot him a playful look. "You know, this isn't exactly helping your whole, 'I'm not a good person' shtick."

His face falls flat, smile disappearing in a second. You can tell by the way his eyes are no longer lifted in the corners. "Did you have any more questions?"

"Oh yeah! Okay, um. So, the apocalypse…" Gesticulating wildly with your hands, you stick out your bottom lip and ask, "..What the Hell is that about?"

A troubled sigh escapes the maker at your mention of it and even Death grimaces, shaking his head slowly from side to side. "It was never supposed to happen. Not this soon."

"But…What? It was supposed to happen. Eventually?"

Before the horseman can reply, Eideard chips in, stomping over to stand next to you and making the ground shudder with each, heavy footstep. "You must understand, little one. Humanity is still such a young species – Why, I was already an old man when your ancestors first appeared." He smiles down at you and you can't help but offer him a tiny one of your own in return. You're really starting to feel a lot more relaxed around the soft-spoken giant.

But soon enough, his smile fades, face turning solemn and he sighs resolutely. "Someone began the apocalypse prematurely – centuries before your kind was strong enough – and all evidence points to Death's brother, War, being at the heart of it."

"He is innocent!" the horseman snarls viciously.

"I never said he was not."

The two of them engage in an intense staring contest. One with eyes of fire and the other with wise patience as fathomless as an ocean. For a time, you observe them cautiously, gaze darting between the horseman and the giant as though you're expecting a fight to break out at any moment. Given Death's track record, you wouldn't put it past him to attack another old man for the tiniest offence.

Unwilling to see any more bloodshed – at least for the day – you aim to distract him, hoping that he won't chop your head off for asking. "How'd you know for sure?"

Those ferocious eyes are on your in an instant. "Because he is my brother. I know him and trust me, he is not the one responsible for the end of your world."

Sluggishly, your brows knit together until they all but meet in the centre of your forehead whilst you closely scrutinise the horseman's eyes. He's well aware that you're searching for some semblance of a lie, so he keeps his expression as steady and sure as a statue, matching your unwavering gaze without even a blink.

Several seconds pass by in silence. Then, like a flipped switch, your face brightens again, lighting up with an amicable – albeit tired – grin. "Alright then."

Struck by the blunt simplicity of your statement, Death blinks. "I…What?" Its a very rare thing that the sharp-tongued horseman is rendered speechless but he'd truly expected a different reaction. An accusation, perhaps. A scoff or a roll of your eyes. Not this eager acceptance. "That was fast," he says carefully, "I was afraid I'd have to convince you."

"Hey, if you say he's innocent, then he's innocent in my books too."

"Really?" Death pushes his chest out and folds his arms across it, skepticism dripping from his lips, "And you're not just saying that because you're afraid of what I'll do to you if you don't?"

Shoving a lock of hair behind your ear, you hum, "Sure, that probably comes into it on a subconscious level-"

"I appreciate your honesty."

"- but despite how totally freaky and sinister and downright terrifying you are-"

"Actually, I think I'd prefer a little less honesty."

"- I reckon you're telling the truth."

"I-…Oh.." The reaper's eyes dart around the glade, as if he's hoping the trees will provide him with a better reply than, 'oh.' He's somewhat offended when they don't.

He'd met you a little over one Earth day ago. You're still – to some extent – afraid of him. And yet, you're already displaying a staggering degree of trust. Astounding. Here is a young human who'd just been told that her world, her friends, her home and her family have all been destroyed and the only name she has to place the blame on is that of his brother's.

But you….don't.

Your credulous nature would be endearing if he didn't think it would get you killed.

A loud sniff jolts Death from his thoughts, "I have one more question," you prod, "For now, at least. I…uh. I think my adrenaline is starting to wear off."

Sure enough, when Eideard and the horseman look down, they can see just how much your legs are straining to keep your upright.

Swallowing past an uncomfortable lump, you lift a hand to massage the back of your neck and address both Death and the giant. "So…What's the plan?"

"Long term, or short?" the former asks.

"Hmmm…Both?"

He sighs, dropping his sinewy arms to the side. "Fine. Long term – We get to the Tree of Life, bring humanity back from extinction and clear my brother's name."

As he speaks, he reaches forward at last and plucks the leaf out of your hair. You freeze when his hand moves, only relaxing as he retrieves it and holds up a golden, fluttering leaf between his thumb and index finger, twiddling it about lazily.

"O-ohhkay?" you gulp, "Sounds easy enough."

"It's not, I'm afraid." This time, Eideard chimes in. "As is often the case."

Stretching your neck back, you grant him your attention, wincing when he thumps his chest with a fist and erupts into a series of hacking coughs. Once he's gathered himself, he leans heavily on his staff, and huffs, "As I've told the horseman, the way is barred by Corruption."

"Corruption?"

"It's a foul, evil thing. A disease that spreads across our lands and takes the lives of our people."

"Like a plague?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes," Death interjects, "Though from what i've seen, it doesn't exactly 'kill' those it has claimed."

Eideard's lips twist. "Not conventionally, no. It is infects everything, constructs, animals…my fellow makers. Then it taints their minds, turning them into dark shadows of their former selves. They feel nothing. No love. No hope or kindness. Nothing but hate and malice…" Sorrow tugs your heartstrings as his mighty shoulders sag under the weight of his sigh. "And yet, it never gets any easier to…bring them peace."

A pang of empathy slugs you right in the jaw as you take in the withered crease of his brow.

Looking at the old giant now, you have to wonder what on Earth you'd ever been afraid of in the first place.

Sure, he's big - very big - and he positively radiates omnipotence, regardless of his wizened, ancient exterior. 'But he hasn't done anything to hurt me,' you rationalise, 'and my head is feeling a lot better…thanks to him...'

Biting down on your trepidation, you take a deep breath and sidle up to him.

The old one's breath catches in his throat at the sensation of a tiny hand pressing against his knuckle. Eyes wide, he peers down to see you stroking your fingers hesitantly over the wrinkled skin on the back of his hand.

In all his years, Eideard has never once been privy to the incredible, cognitive ability of an empathetic human. They're the creatures that he and his people have had the least interaction with and as such, most makers find them strange and fascinating, especially their innate capacity for feeling with others, even those outside their own species.

Angels, demons and undead all lack the same kind of emotive dexterity. So do makers, to some extent. And yet, here he is, witnessing a human - who doesn't even know his name - trying to comfort, to forge a connection the best way she knows how. Through physical contact.

The tired old heart in his chest swells, contented.

You remain as you are for a few seconds longer, returning his warm look with a shy squeeze of your hand.

"So, um…Ahem. What was the short term plan?" you stumble, pulling your fingers off him when his fond stare starts to become a bit awkward.

Death pauses to allow Dust to flutter down from the branch of a nearby tree and land clumsily on his shoulder, smirking at the glare you toss the bird's way. "Yes. Short term-" He taps his finger on the chin of his mask in thought. He knows that you need the basics. Sleep, food and water. But, truth be told, he's somewhat reluctant to ask for the makers' help. However, he'll have to swallow his condescension and accept it if he wants to keep you alive.

The horseman grumbles bitterly, "Eideard?"

Understanding his unspoken concern, the maker runs a hand down the length of his thick beard, humming resonantly for a moment and considering you carefully. "The first thing you must do is rest. Everything else can come after. Come, you've been through quite enough for one day."

With that, he beckons you and the horseman to follow after him while he turns around, making his way towards what looks to be a monumental, hollowed-out tree trunk that must have been uprooted centuries ago. Death's hand pushes into your back, prompting you to start forwards, dragging your feet as you trundle after the giant. He only takes a few, leisurely steps before stopping in his tracks and twisting his body about to look down at you, a look of remorse flitting over his face. "Forgive me, lass. I'm afraid in all the excitement, I never too care of introductions."

You draw to a halt in front of his enormous boots. Beside you, Death's nostrils flare with an annoyed sigh.

Letting your jaw fall open into a wide yawn, you rush to cover your mouth with an arm, using the other to rub tiredly at the dark circles beneath your eyes. "Huh? Oh right. Right." Once you've stopped yawning, you offer the maker your hand and blink languidly up at him. "I'm Y/n. S'nice to meet you, Mr?…"

"Eideard," he practically beams at the unexpectedly civil greeting, though he eyes your proffered hand uncertainly. "Is there…something you wish to give me?"

"What?" You pull your hand back and turn it over, inspecting it back to front before his question clicks. "Wait. You don't know what a handshake is, do you?"

His head swings slowly from side to side, the metal of his headdress clanking noisily in the otherwise peaceful glade. Spinning about, you catch Death's eye instead and his scowl grows deeper the wider you smile. "What?" he gripes.

"Do _you_ know what a handshake is?" you ask, ever hopeful.

He scoffs. "Of course."

Without hesitation, you stick your hand out at him, wiggling your fingers up at the white, bone-mask. "Great! You wanna help me demonstrate for him?"

But the horseman's arms remain tucked securely against his chest and he narrows his eyes at your appendage. "No."

Quick as a flash, your face falls and your big, shining eyes drop to the floor, dejected. "Oh…O-okay."

Unbeknownst to you, Death has caught the elder maker's disapproving glare and from the corner of his eye, he can even see his crow giving him an equally dirty look. With a huff, the horseman relents and snatches up your soft hand, giving it a good, firm shake once, twice…and then promptly letting go. "There," he spits, mostly at the crow, "happy?" Although nobody responds verbally, its clear by the childlike glint in your wet eyes that you certainly are.

He's never been more grateful that his mask can hide the responsive half-smirk that darts across his lips.

Satisfied, you turn back to Eideard. "See? It's a human greeting. We use it when we make a new friend."

If it were at all possible, Death would swear the maker's smile grows even bigger. The old one extends a hand until its within your reach, palm up and waits for you while you place your own hand on the top of his thumb. Then, carefully, he curls his crooked fingers around your delicate arm, engulfing the whole thing in his loose fist and gently moves it up and down as you'd demonstrated with a reluctant Death.

"Well, Y/n," he rumbles, straightening up again and gesturing towards the tree trunk, beyond which you can make out the glow of a morning sun, "Welcome to the Maker's Realm. I should warn you, lass. The others may be a little more…ah…exuberant about your visit than I."

Your feet grind to a jerking stop. Suddenly, you feel a lot more awake.

"O-others?"


End file.
